Quin looked forlornly at the steaming mug of liquorice tea. On one hand, he needed to clear his throat. On the other, he might actually die if forced to drink something as disgusting as liquorice. He picked up the tea and took a difficult sip, the vapours wafting from it making his eyes water.
He tried to make an appreciative noise, but his face must have betrayed him.
“What’s wrong with it?” Kit asked.
“I…don’t like liquorice,” Quin admitted.
Kit blinked. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Because I didn’t want to be a bother.”
Kit waved a hand towards the cupboard. “I bought over a dozen different flavours of tea, and you let me make you theoneyou don’t enjoy?”
Quin’s face heated. “Yes.”
Kit sighed dramatically. “I’ll get you something else.” He took Quin’s mug from his hands and dumped the disgusting tea down the sink.
Quin couldn’t deny his relief at seeing it go.
“All right, which tea would you actually like?” Kit asked.
“I’ll go for a palate cleanser. Bog standard Tetley, please.”
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Dash of milk and two sugars.”
Kit turned to him. “Twosugars? What are you, a child?”
“I have a sweet tooth,” Quin said.
“Clearly,” Kit muttered to himself as he made a fresh cup of tea. Only with two tea bags, which Quin nodded his approval of before Kit poured the water in. This time, when Kit brought it over, Quin could enjoy the perfect cup of tea, dunking the Hobnobs in one by one until he’d eaten far too many. They chattered about this and that, and made plans for Quin’s change when the full moon hit later in the week.
When Quin finished the tea, Kit stood up. “What one now?”
“Huh?”
“Tea, Quin,” Kit said, with the air of someone who was dealing with a toddler. “What would you like?”
Quin checked his watch. It was getting late. “Chamomile?”
“Of course.” Kit performed the task in a ritualistic manner, putting the kettle on, washing Quin’s mug, drying it, popping the teabag in and finishing with the hot water to steep.
“I could get used to this,” Quin said when Kit brought the mug over to him once again.
“Being waited on hand and foot?”
“Oh, so now you’re the one with the foot thing.”
Kit glanced down at his own feet, which were, as usual, ensconced in thick socks. “You haven’t even seen my feet yet and you’re weird about them.”
“I’m really normal about your feet,” Quin argued.
Kit stretched one foot out towards Quin, waggling his toes through the fabric. “So you won’t react if I take my socks off?”
“Not at all,” Quin said, taking a sip of the tea. It was mild, and as calming as it purported to be. At least, he remained calm for all of a few seconds until Kit sat back down in the armchair andpointed his foot up like a ballerina, then pulled at the end of his sock.
Quin tried not to watch. He really did. But he found himself amused at how Kit kept peeking back at him to gauge his reaction as he took one sock off with exaggerated slowness.
