Meredith laughs, scrambling to wrap her arms around his shoulders, more to keep from slipping backwards than to get in his way, though it accomplishes that, too. "Does this mean I win?" she teases. Leaning her head against his a moment, she has to push away the urge just to curl up, bury her face in the crook of his neck, turn suddenly docile; she slips away instead, inches backwards, still fighting back laughter.