His eyebrows rearranged themselves in an expression of surprise, and crashed together in confusion. Australia? “Why’d you leave?” He had meant to bite his tongue, and think it, but travelling – travelling so far – was an alien idea to someone who had lived his life quite contentedly in the same village. That it sounded rude in tone, like he was asking why she was here, could be forgiven by her own addition, her little complaint about the cold. She ought to have guessed Scotland would be cold. (It explained why she’d been crowing so much about the hot cocoa, though.)
“Layers,” he added, after a beat; a suggestion.
“Layers,” he added, after a beat; a suggestion.
