Page 81 of The Sound Between Us

“I live to amuse.” He sets the guitar aside. “Coffee?”

“I don’t suppose you have tea?”

“I’m not a savage, Seren.” There’s warmth in his voice I wasn’t expecting. “Earl Grey or English Breakfast?”

“You actually have proper tea?”

“I have proper everything. One of the advantages of having money and no taste, you can afford to buy the expensive version of things you don’t understand.”

I follow him into the kitchen, noting the way he moves through the space with easy familiarity. The coffee machine is some Italian monstrosity that probably costs more than my car, and there’s a kettle. An actual electric kettle, not some stovetop American nonsense.

“Milk?”

“Obviously.”

“Sugar?”

“Two.”

“Wait a minute.” He pauses, hand on his hip, eyebrow raised. “Thought you lived in a sugar-free house?”

I bite back what could be considered an almost smile. “Maybe I lied.”

His brown gaze rests on mine, and there’s something searching there, trying to figure out which version of me is real. “Hm.”

He warms the pot, measures tea leaves from a tin that looks expensive and probably is. The domesticity makes my chest tight in a way I don’t want to examine.

“I should probably try and get back to the UK.”

He shrugs, not looking up from the tea ritual. “Or you could stay.”

“Stay?”

“Well, at least for brunch.”

“How very LA of you.”

The tea is perfect. Proper strength, the right amount of milk, served in a mug clearly chosen for function over form. I wrap my hands around it and inhale the familiar comfort of bergamot and home.

“There’s this place in Malibu. Does proper full English if you’re homesick.”

“I’m not homesick. I’m just... displaced.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

I study his face over the rim of my mug. He’s being careful with me, keeping his distance, not pushing, treating me as though I might shatter if he says the wrong thing.

“I can’t just hide in the Hills indefinitely.”

“Why not? I do it all the time.”

“You have a reason to be here. I’m just... running away.”

“Nothing wrong with a strategic retreat.” He takes a sip of his coffee, black, of course. “My assistant can get you whatever you need. Phone, clothes, whatever.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Why? Because you’re proud? Or because you don’t trust me?”