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I set her to the side, avoiding the questions still in her eyes, coward that I am.
40
Quentin
I slide off the stool and busy myself making her and myself omelets, each with toast and hash browns.
I grab the cutlery, set our places on the island, then slide a loaded plate in front of her before placing one in my place.
I also grab a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen counter and place it on the island between the plates.
“What’s that for?” she asks.
I stifle a chuckle and say with a straight face, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Her gaze narrows, but then I move to the fridge and bring out a small but perfectly created cake and hear her gasp in delight. I place the cake on the island, then return to my seat on the stool opposite her.
"Cake for breakfast?" She claps her hands in delight.
The excited note in her voice makes me smile again as I approach her.
"It’s our wedding cake," I murmur.
“Wow, it looks—” She clears her throat. “It looks exquisite.”
“Eat first.” I take my seat.
She butters her toast and scarfs down half the omelet before she raises her head to find me watching. "What?"
"I forgot what it's like to be young enough to have an appetite like that."
"I don’t know, your appetite seems fine to me."
"Is that a compliment?" I smirk.
"Whatever." She rolls her eyes. "By the way, what are you listening to?" She points her fork at the device on the far end of the island, which is streaming the radio channel in the background.
"BBC Radio 6."
"You listen to the BBC?"
"This channel plays eclectic music."
"I thought only the ‘older generation’ listened to the BBC.” Her lips twitch, and I know she said that purposes to rile me about our age gap, but I’m not falling for it.
"Of course, you’re not listening to it on a radio?—"
"It is a radio station.” I frown.
"I mean, you’re not listening to it on one of those antique, broadcast-player thingies."
Now I’m an antique, am I? Still, I stop myself from getting pissed off about it and lean my elbow on the table. "You’re referring to a transistor radio, I take it?"
She nods vigorously. "That’s it."
Of course, she doesn’t know what a transistor radio is. And I'm sure she's never used a rotary dial phone, or a dial-up internet connection, or a dot matrix printer. Never have I felt our age gap more than now. "Have you seen one of those devices?" I ask in a normal tone.
"My dad listens to the BBC on an old school one.” Her smile is guileless but, no doubt, she noticed my discomfort at her earlier comment and is pressing home the point. The brat! Mentioning me in the same breath as her father hits a little too close to home. This time, I can’t stop my wince.
