Page 20 of The Sound Between Us
His smile drops completely, shoulders deflating. For a second, he looks exhausted. The weight of something I can’t see pressing down on him.
“Please.”
Just that. One word. Quiet. Earnest.
My chest tightens.
“Why?” I fold my arms.
He shrugs. “Like I said. Loose end.”
But the charm’s back now, slipping into place.
“Find a different loose end.”
“But I like yours.”
“Listen.” I exhale hard, my breath visible in the cold air. “Sorry I was rude. Sorry about the milkshake and the unsolicited career critique. But I’m not interested. I’m not like the girls who get starry-eyed and lose their knickers because you smiled at them.”
He throws his hands up, mock-offended. “Whoa! Who said anything about knickers? I offered you a ride, not a declaration of undying lust.”
His smile returns—cheeky, knowing.
He sticks out a hand. “I’m Harry.”
“Harrison?” My voice does that embarrassing squeak thing.
“No. Just Harry.”
His hand stays there, suspended between us. The traffic rumbles past, exhaust fumes mixing with the scent of rain on concrete.
I take it, slowly. His palm is warm, calloused at the fingertips.
“Seren.” I pause. “Why Harry?”
“Harry’s my actual name. Harrison’s the stage show.”
I shake my head. “Stop. You’re giving me too many exclusives—I could sell this entire convo to a tabloid.”
His eyes settle on mine. “I’ve never been a great judge of character,” he says. “But you... I’m not worried.”
“Foolish.”
“Definitely.”
He darts a look past me. The watchers. The phones. The world pressing in.
“I’m Serendipity,” I say suddenly. “And I live in Belgravia. Is that a problem?”
His smile spreads slow and warm.
So we get in the Land Rover. Basically because I’m an idiot.
“Nice ride,” I murmur, sinking into leather that smells like old money and long-forgotten lies. My childhood creeps up in the scent; hints of my mother’s perfume, the silk of her coat sleeve, the echo of my father’s absence.
“So, Belgravia?”
I nod, eyes on the window. The driver hums along to the radio, earpiece in. Either genuinely oblivious or very convincingly pretending.
