"Glad to hear it," he agrees, leaning back a little in the chair, lifting one ankle and crossing it over his leg, more like he's sitting at home than in a pub. He looks at her, watches her, his curiosity clear.

"You know I hope you don't mind me saying," he starts, "but you've got some amazing hair there." Even with it damp from the rain, he's almost fascinated by those curls, and even pinned and somewhat restrained as they might be.

"So museum, check. Son down south, check. What else should I know about you, Melody?"