“Tea? Is that tea?”
Giles sniffed again, but didn’t yet dare open his eyes. If he opened them, surely he would discover that none of it had happened. And that he was imagining the tea as well. He wanted it rather badly.
The bed tipped and sheets rustled. A cup rattled on a saucer. “Yeah, you smell tea,” a voice said. A female voice. Buffy’s voice. Giles let himself relax into his bed again. He hadn’t imagined it.
“Bless you,” he said, into his pillows.
“Tea is an extra-special service I provide only for extra-special new boyfriends.”
“Am I extra-special?”
“Yup. You have to sit up, though. No tea for people with their heads underneath their pillows. And dude, did you know that you slept all night that way? You’re supposed to put your head on them, not under them.”
Giles sat up and finally opened his eyes. Buffy was perched on his bed, wearing his black robe and not much more than that. Or so he hoped.
“You have pillow lines on your face.”
Giles scrubbed at his face.
“May I have my tea now?”
She handed it over. Giles took saucer in hand and sniffed again. Seemed right. Tasted right. He cocked an eye at Buffy, who looked rather smug. Which was fine with him. He felt rather smug himself.