Even after their dalliance in the woods that little kiss shocks her for a blink, until she remembers that day in the foyer, not three feet from the front door. She'll have to do something about this presumption she has that anyone asking Daryl about their evolving relationship (it is a poorly tailored word, she agrees, though she can't think of a better one) would be met with stuttering, irritable denial. Not that she's sure either of them is in a rush to have that discussion. (Or, he's still a little fuzzy from earlier, which is equally as gratifying a thought.)

Carol permits him to half-tug her up the stairs, much appreciating his slapdash enthusiasm as she's feeling not unlike a kid, herself, all zeal and impetuousness. Once they're tucked away in her room Carol kicks the door, barely focusing long enough to note the telling click as she's swept into Daryl's arms with a sound of joyful surprise (she's not surprised at all, but likes the way it sounds just then). She couldn't begin to deny that she's still wound up from their time lakeside, though what's more curious is that he is. If she were to think on it -- and she has much more pressing matters to attend to at this exact moment -- it wouldn't be so remarkable for Daryl to be more invested in pleasing her than he is himself, but the contrast between this and other men she's known is extreme enough to draw her attention in a way that's probably more flattering than it should be (he'd do the same for anyone... figuratively speaking).

Melting against him, Carol is able to do little more than respond for now, a bit weak-kneed thanks to how he's behaving. She'll find her mettle again in short enough order; he likes her that way and so does she. For this short moment, she's fine being putty in his hands. Hopefully he'll make good use of the reprieve.