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I took a breath. “I work part-time in a care home.” I kept my eyes on the frying pan, stirring all the while.

“Like… admin?”

“No.” I paused. “I help with meals.. Lifts. Sometimes I sit with residents when they’re… unsettled.”

Silence.

I glanced at him.

Quinn blinked. “You do personal care?”

“Yes.” I kept my tone even, measured.

“That sounds intense.”

I shrugged. “It’s work.”

Quinn studied me. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

I went back to staring at the eggs. “Because it doesn’t align with the way people see me.”

“And how is that?”

I made a vague gesture. “They see control. Authority. Precision.”

“You think helping elderly people undermines that?”

“No,” I said in a low voice. “But other people do.”

He’d gone quiet again.

A metallic clang broke the silence.

“Toast,” I said without looking. “And the eggs are done.”

I listened to the harsh scrape of the knife. When it stopped, I grabbed two plates from the cabinet above my head. Quinn said nothing as I dished out the eggs, and it wasn’t until we were both seated at the table that the silence became unbearable.

“My grandfather’s in a home in Manchester,” I told him.

Quinn stilled, his fork in his hand.

“He used to be…” I searched for the word. “He was always a formidable man when I was growing up, loud and uncompromising.”

“And now?”

Another shrug. “Now he needs help to eat. He’s… shrunk. And he seems to have retreated to some place inside him where I can’t reach.” My stomach clenched. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of months, but that had been my choice.

The man I’d loved was gone. I don’t think he even knew I was there half the time, except when I played the piano for him. That was the only time I saw a spark of something in those eyes, a flicker of the man who’d sat me on a piano bench next to him when I was four years old, my little fingers stretching to reach the keys.

Quinn didn’t fill the void I’d created with words, for which I was grateful.

I took another forkful of eggs. When I’d swallowed, I raised my chin and met his gaze. “I started volunteering when I visited him. It seemed obscene to walk past other residents who had no one, so I stayed longer. Then I asked if they needed staff. And when I moved to London, I decided to find myself a job at another care home. Okay, so I’m not looking after my grandfather, but someone else’s.”

Quinn’s expression softened. “Are you good at your job? I get the feeling you probably are.”

I smiled. “I know how to steady someone. I can give instructions calmly. I know how to hold someone’s hand without making it theatrical.”

Quinn smiled. “You’re describing yourself.”