She opened her mouth, unsure of how to respond to that. Asking why hedidlike talking to her felt like fishing for compliments. And would take the focus off him. ‘Okay. Well. I’ll still keep it private if you want to talk.’ She forced a smile. ‘And if not, I’ll leave you be.’
He ran both hands roughly through his hair and then pulled them down over his face, making a noise between a huff and a groan. She started to move towards the door, seeing that as clear evidence he needed to be by himself, but then he dropped his hands and took one big step towards her, catching her hand. ‘No. Don’t go. I’m sorry.’
She bit her lip, curling her fingers tentatively back around his, giving him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. ‘What for?’
‘For being in this weird mood. I want you to stay.’ He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and they both went quiet looking down at their hands interlinked. His long fingers, tanned and smeared with dirt from filming and hers small and pale. Lila could totally understand why women could have been courted this way. So little opportunity to touch made it all the more significant when it happened, and left so much capacity for imagining more. The heat of his skin, the gentleness of his hold… Suddenly breathing in and out didn’t seem to be an automatic brain function anymore. She was having to concentrate hard to keep her lungs functioning.
‘You know what I probably need?’ he said, his voice even rougher at the edges than usual.
She licked her lips, extremely aware of whatshewas starting to need but certain that wasn’t what was going throughhismind.
He gave a faint smile and released her hand. ‘Tea.’
‘Tea?’ she blinked.
‘Yeah. A good, strong cup of tea. My mum swears it sets the world to rights.’
‘Oh. Sure.’
‘Would you like one?’
‘Okay, thanks.’ She could certainly do with being “set to rights”.
He turned to fill the small kettle and set it to boil, and she slid onto the bench seat behind the table, pleased he was looking in the opposite direction as she had to shuffle across and tug at her shorts.
They were both quiet as he made the tea but this time, she didn’t feel awkward. Just unsure of how much she should read into him taking her hand. The touch itself was innocent, and he was probably just a more tactile person than she was. It wouldn’t be hard. She never usually liked to initiate physical intimacy, even with friends, just in case she’d misjudged it.
He joined her a moment later with two mugs, putting them in the centre of the table and then settling in the corner where there was more space for him, one of his long legs near enough to hers that she felt its heat even through the army uniform of his costume. ‘Sorry, I didn’t think to ask, would you have preferred coffee? I only have decaf, but I do have it.’
‘I like both. You know, I’m half British – that might account for it.’
‘You are?’
‘Yeah. My dad was – well he still is, technically, I suppose.’ Even though he still lived in New York as Stephen had confirmed in his letter. Her dad had left but stayed close enough to visit. He just chose not to. How different would her childhood have felt if he’d bothered?
‘When did he leave?’
‘When I was six. He drank a lot of tea – I do remember that.’
‘You don’t have any contact with him?’
She shook her head, wondering why she had brought it up at all. Maybe she was still subconsciously trying to kill her libido.
‘Sorry.’ He moved his hand across the table, as though he was going to take hers again but just stopped shy. ‘That must have been hard.’
‘I suppose…I’m not sure I missed him exactly. I just wondered what I’d done wrong, I guess. And my mom…she’s kind of a hard person.’
‘A difficult personality, you mean?’
‘More that she’s tough. Flinty. Like she’s got bulletproof armour on all the time, and no patience for people who are of a more sensitive disposition.’ She bit her lip. ‘She’s had to be like that, though, I think. She was a young mom and left to raise me on her own. Even before that, her upbringing was tough too.’
‘You don’t have to make excuses for her.’
‘I feel guilty though, talking about her that way. I used to want to be like her, and I hated myself because I couldn’t be.’ Lila laughed at the ridiculousness of her trying to be anything like her mom. They were polar opposites. ‘Then, as I got older, I blamed her for everything – which was equally unhelpful. And unfair.’ She shrugged.
‘My mum has had it hard too. But she never made me feel like that.’
‘Like what?’ Lila wasn’t sure she’d said anything about how her mom had made her feel, growing up. Or even now.
