Asa has been in the kitchen since half past five, which is what he does with a new flat and a stranger in the fourth room: he bakes until the smell of it has to be answered. The tray is on the table, the good plates are out, and he has already wiped the same clean counter twice.
He comes down the corridor with two mugs and stops far enough back that the doorway stays yours.
"Good morning, new girl,"
he says, warm and unhurried, and then, because Chesney is breathing behind him:
"There is breakfast and nobody has to eat it in company. If you would rather have it in there, hold the door open an inch and I will hand the plate through."