It’s comforting that he doesn’t keep up the formal front at home. It makes me feel less like an intruder.
And yet, my cheeks are heating again.
Ridiculous.I came here for professional guidance, not to get flustered over an older man still nursing a broken heart.
The kitchen is warm and smells of garlic and butter, rich and homely. A breeze drifts in through the open window, lifting the curtains and cooling my flushed face. I’ve always felt the cold easily, but tonight it feels almost good, raising goose bumps on my arms and reminding me that I’m alive.
“Thank you for making dinner,” I say as he sets the plate before me and removes the tin-foil covering.
“It’s nothing special,” he replies, drying his hands. “Just some roast chicken and potatoes.”
“It smells amazing,” I sigh.
I take a cautious bite, and he watches for a second before looking away.
“So,” he says after a moment, leaning back against the counter, “what’s your plan for tomorrow?”
“Plan?”
“In regard to your music.”
My plan was to come here. Thatwasthe plan, I nearly say.
“I might check out town.” I dodge. “And then…I’ll see.”
He nods, folding his arms loosely. “You mentioned wanting to write again. Is your goal to perform them one day?”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “Honestly? Itwas, but I don’t know anymore.” My gaze drops to my plate. “Is that bad? To not have my goals figured out?”
“Far better than to be following the wrong ones. But, if I may…you don’t strike me as someone without a goal.”
Before I can think of a reply, he checks the clock. “I should turn in. Early tide tomorrow.”
I momentarily forgot he still has work. I’m already in holiday mode. “How early is early?”
“Five-ish.”
“Ouch.”
I toy with a piece of roast chicken, my voice innocent. “I suppose the cows will need milking.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “Indeed. As do the oysters.”
I snap my head up, then I realise he’s joking. Oysters don’t need milking. I’m fairly certain.
Still, I hold his gaze, trying to look like someone who knows that—and who also wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it turned out oysters had udders.
Brandon chuckles softly. “Call me if you need anything. I’m usually home mid-afternoon. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. And…thank you for dinner,” I call after him.
“You’re welcome.” He pauses by the door, glancing back with a faint smile as he indicates the light switch. “Lights are here once you’re done.”
His footsteps on the floorboards fade, the house settling into quiet once more. The silence feels too big for me, too new. It’s surreal to realise I’m actually here, in an Englishman’s cottage, on the other side of the world, far from everyone I know.
I hope I know what I’m doing.
A faint rush of water drifts down the hall—the muted sound of a shower starting. It’s strangely intimate, the reminder he’s still here, moving through the same space.
