At the café, we find a small table in the back. I pick up the laminated menu, glance at it, and then put it down again.
“I don’t know why I’m checking,” I say, pointing at myself. “This woman is having a full English and tea.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle.
“A woman after my own heart,” he says, and for a second the warmth of it makes me forget everything else.
He orders at the counter and returns with two mugs of tea. The smell is comforting, familiar.
We sit with the steam between us.
Then he looks at me.
“Why did you mention the piano?” he asks.
I grin.
“Oh, because I have a cunning plan for how you can repay me for yesterday’s…” I wave a hand. “entire performance.”
He winces. “I thought breakfast was my penance.”
“Nope,” I say. “Breakfast is repayment for me missing dinner and sleeping in a chair designed by Satan.”
His cheeks flush.
“You didn’t have to stay,” he says quietly.
I give him a look.
“Someone had to make sure you didn’t do something spectacularly tragic like choke on your own vomit.”
He winces hard at that, embarrassment washing over him again.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, staring into his tea like it might hide him.
I reach out and place my hand over his, firm enough to anchor him.
“I’m not saying it to shame you,” I say quietly.
He swallows hard.
The waitress arrives with our plates, piled high with bacon, sausages, beans, eggs, hash browns, toast. The smell is heavenly.
“Eat,” I order.
He obeys.
Then I lift my fork and point it at him.
“Right.Punishment.”
His eyes widen. “I’m scared to ask. And I’m warning you now, I don’t play piano in public.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “But you do have to play.”
He pauses mid-chew, eyebrows lifting.
“I want to audition for the Crazy Dogs and I need you to help me rehearse,” I announce.