"No, she's not your type at all," Freddie chuckled, grinning at the understatement. He loved her way with words sometimes. He tore his eyes away from the patterned teapot to look at her again; she was watching him from behind her curtain of hair. Sighed, he topped up their tea and gave her a little smile, perhaps a little tight, but genuine enough.
"Yeah, I have this," Fred agreed, glancing around his cosy little living room, the walls lined with bookshelves. They heaved with books on the subject of invention, innovation, creative magic. This place represented everything Freddie had ever worked for in his life, and more. "I ... well, you know what I'm like," he paused, absorbing the irony, she did know, all too well. "I like to be busy, and to be making things. Dad promised if I came home from my travels in time for my birthday he'd give me a reason to stick around. I didn't really believe him." Fred laughed. "It's so much fun, travelling around like that, with nothing but a few belongings in a bag. Real freedom. And the things I saw." His gaze became a little misty. "It was wonderfully inspiring, at the risk of sounding rather corny."
Fred scratched the back of his hand absently. "But dad knows me pretty well. It would become aimless after a while. You need roots, somewhere. I think this was his way of making sure I didn't decide to settle in Bratislava or somewhere." He shook his head. "Clever old git."