‘Is that the last?’ she asked, when he brought another box in and stacked it in the hallway.
‘Almost. One more.’ To her surprise, he returned with the most gorgeous bouquet of white roses and freesias.
She blinked. ‘Those are for me?’
He nodded. ‘I picked them up on the way home from work—I wanted to say thanks for coming to my rescue.’ He smiled. ‘I told the florist you didn’t do pink.’
‘Rhys, they’re absolutely beautiful.’ Her eyes filmed with tears. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had bought her flowers. Pete had stopped buying her flowers a long, long time before their relationship had finally ended. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice breaking slightly.
‘If I’d known they’d make you cry, I would’ve bought you chocolate instead,’ he said, and gently wiped the single tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. ‘Don’t cry, cariad.’
‘Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…’ She swallowed hard. Lord. Having him touch her like that—it would be, oh, so easy just to turn her head slightly, press a kiss into his palm.
She got a grip on herself. Just. ‘I’ll put these in water, then show you to your room. There should be enough space for some of your boxes there, and we can stack the rest in the dining room—that’s probably the best place for your cello, too.’
‘I don’t want to take over your house,’ he said, looking awkward.
‘You’re not. You’re staying here as my guest.’
‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,’ he said as he followed her upstairs, carrying his cases. ‘I want to pay you rent while I’m here.’
‘Don’t be daft. Besides, it’s not as if I’ve ever let the room or anything.’
‘Even so, your bills are going to be higher with me staying here, and I want to contribute. And I’ll do my share of the chores and cooking.’ As if he guessed what she was about to say next, he added, ‘No arguments, because you’d say exactly the same if you were the one staying in my spare room while your place was being fixed.’
She couldn’t disagree with that. ‘All right. Thank you.’
‘Good—and I’m going to start by ordering that pizza for us tonight.’
‘The number for the best local take-away is by the phone in the kitchen,’ she said, showing him into the little guest room. ‘And if you want to let your parents or whoever know that you’re staying here, feel free to give them my landline.’
‘No need. I have a mobile,’ he said. ‘But thank you for the offer.’
Katrina couldn’t quite catch his tone, but she noted the set of his shoulders. It looked as if Rhys’s ‘don’t let anyone close’ attitude included his parents. She remembered he’d said his parents had split up; she could understand him being slightly more reserved with the parent who’d left, but surely he would’ve been close to the one he’d lived with?
Obviously not.
By the time Rhys had unpacked, the pizza had arrived. Katrina was careful not to talk about anything personal, and he seemed to relax again while they ate.
‘So do you play your cello very much?’ she asked.
‘About half an hour a day, to keep in practice—sometimes more, if it’s been a rough day,’ he said.
Clearly it was how he unwound at the end of a day. Like the way she lost herself in a book. ‘Would you play for me tonight, or are you too tired?’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘You’d like me to play for you?’
‘As I said earlier, I probably won’t appreciate it as much as I should do, but…’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I suppose I’m curious. I’d like to know what kind of music you enjoy.’
‘Sure. I’ll play in your dining room, if you don’t mind—it has a wooden floor, so the acoustics will be better,’ he said.
‘Do you need your sheet music and a stand?’
He shook his head. ‘Only if it’s something I haven’t played for a long while. Most of the pieces I’ve played for so many years now I know them by heart.’
Katrina watched, fascinated, as Rhys moved a chair into position, removed the cello from its case and tightened the bow.
‘I love this one,’ he told her. ‘It’s the second movement of Bach’s cello concerto in G minor.’
He really lost himself as he played, she thought, leaning into the instrument as he moved the bow across the strings. The fingers she’d seen gently treating a child on the ward were just as precise as he pressed each note. And when she looked at his face, it was as if the wall he usually kept between himself and other people had just crumbled away. She was seeing Rhys at his most open—and it brought a lump to her throat. Made her want him even more.