“No,” he says quietly. “He really doesn’t.”
There’s a pause.
Then he rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“He’s only one,” he says. “So if I’m lucky, he’s got another year maybe. I don’t want that year to be him getting stressed every five minutes.”
I lean one hip against the counter.
“He can stay with me.”
Philip looks up again.
I keep my tone easy.
“It’s quiet here. Quiet in London. I know the food, I know the routine now, and I’ve plenty of beanies for him.”
That pulls a faint laugh out of him.
Good.
But his eyes are still thoughtful.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t.”
“Mark.”
“I mean it.”
He seems torn.
Probably trying to work out why I’m offering to permanently house a rodent I met less than two days ago.
Fair question.
I’m trying not to examen my own answer too hard.
I nod towards Heath.
“He seems settled enough.”
Philip’s fingers rest lightly against the cage bars.
“I felt guilty leaving him with Sophie,” he admits. “She offered and I said yes because I didn’t really have another option.”
I straighten slightly.
“Well. Now you do.”
His eyes lift to mine.
And there’s a beat there.
Quiet.
Loaded.
