The Music at Home

Gethin moved my shoes out of the sitting-room doorway with his foot and said he was beginning to understand why I liked an unobstructed dance floor.

“They weren’t there when we left.”

“Perhaps they’ve been out.”

I took off the pair I was wearing and put all four by the wall. He hung our coats together on the hook, which held them badly but managed.

We had stopped on the way for bread. It lay on my kitchen table beside the letters I had not opened that morning. He put the kettle on while I found the butter, then we stood eating thick slices before the water had boiled.

“We could sit,” he said.

“We could.”

Neither of us moved immediately. I liked his shoulder beside mine at the counter. I liked being hungry after dancing and having someone who would eat with me before suggesting a proper meal. Some…