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18
AVERY
“Areyou sure you're a rock star?” I ask as I walk into Bryn's place.
The apartment is one in an ultra-modern tower block overlooking the Thames, a short taxi ride from the club. I stiffly sit on the plump red sofa.
“What do you mean?”
“It's a bit sparse and not very expensive looking.”
“I'm hardly here, or I wasn't until the band took a break. I guess I should buy more furniture sometime.” Bryn drops his phone onto the low glass coffee table. “Maybe because the room is big it looks empty?”
The open-plan lounge is filled with items I recognise from my Ikea obsession. I'd expect expensive, solid furniture, not flat pack. Mia's things are spread around, as if she's marking her territory: jewellery on tables, clothes draped over chairs, shoes kicked off resting near the door. The house smells of strong floral perfume, not Bryn.
A small brown dog runs at me, yapping and I'm on the verge of standing and running.
“Shut up, rat dog!” snarls Bryn.
I stare. “You have a dog?”
“If I had a dog, do you think it would be one like this?”
The dog continues to bark and Bryn grabs it. I watch in amusement as he wrangles the Chihuahua that's attempting to bite him. Unceremoniously, he dumps it in the hallway and closes the door.
“Bloody thing can go back to Mia’s room.” Bryn wipes his hands on his suit trousers. “Right. Drink? Wine?”
Without waiting for a response, he heads into the kitchen and I follow. Bryn takes wine glasses from a glass-fronted cupboard on the wall above the sink. “You like white, don't you?”
This is more of a statement than a question as he opens a monstrous sized stainless steel fridge and pulls out one of several bottles. “I don't drink much wine; is this okay?”
I break from my gawking at the fact my kitchen could fit in here five times—and is at least five times as clean—as Bryn sets a bottle on the black marble island counter between us. I glance at the label. “I don't like sweet whites.”
“Right.” He rubs a cheek. “You choose.”
Embarrassed that I'm rejecting something Bryn is giving me, I grab the first bottle I find in the fridge and I'm relieved to see it's a Sav Blanc.
“I'll join you in a glass,” he says and pours two overly generous drinks before passing me one and chinking the glasses. “Cheers,cariad.”
I stare back into Bryn's deep brown eyes, wishing I knew what he thought of me. Between the innuendo and the friendship, something else lurks.
I'm about to speak when he heads back into the lounge, places the bottle on the table, and flops onto the sofa with his glass.
“Sit down,” he says as I join him.
Where do I sit? Mia's clothes cover the armchair adjacent to the sofa and if I moved them, that would be odd, as if I'm deliberately avoiding sitting with Bryn. Then the question would be raisedwhyI'm deliberately avoiding him. I plant my backside on the opposite end of the sofa instead.
Bryn slurps his wine. “How was your Christmas?”
My Christmas? I'm sitting alone with you late at night in your apartment and you want to talk about Christmas?
“Good. You?”
“Family things.” He scrunches his nose up. “Too many family. It's like we’re our own village when we get together. And so many kids.”
“Not a fan of kids?”
“Don't meet many in my life. Liam has one now, well a step-kid. She's a bit whiny. I think having a little sister influenced my view of children. Have you any brothers or sisters?”
