Page 146 of Between Despair and Hope

“I, uh, was practicing before I came to you. I’ve been craving an orange, so I made one when I finished. You smell it on me?” He smiled. “I know I’ll still crave it when I wake, but—” He shrugged.

“What did you have to practice?” I asked.

“The fireflies. It was hard to make it so they blinked independently.”

“Ah.” I nodded, looking around at all that he’d created with a new appreciation. “Is the stream not difficult?”

“Surprisingly, no. Water is easy.”

“Are oranges part of the picnic?”

“They can be. Would you like an orange?”

“Yes. And I’d like to see what else you came up with.”

He swallowed, walking up the path toward an area above the spring, just over the waterfall. It was flat with tidy grass, and a blanket waited on the ground. Deep mustard yellow, it reminded me of the pillows in Cy’s bedroom, and I knew it would be soft. A small wicker basket sat on one corner of the blanket, full of what I assumed was our picnic. Rubbing his hand up the back of his neck and into his hair, he waited for me to say something.

“You’re being…awkward,” I said.

A sly smile crossed his features as he dropped his hand. I barely reacted in time as his other hand tossed me an orange. Catching it, I glared at him.

“Would you like me to peel it for you,min vil—”

His words cut off at the jerk of my chin. I didn’t want him thinking he could just go back to calling me that.

“I’ve got it,” I said, stubborn as I peeled at it with my thumbnails. I wasn’t used to the skin of the fruit, and it was difficult. Apples were better because their skin stayed on. Groaning internally, I realized I’d be smelling it on my fingers. Smellinghim. His expression gave away nothing as he watched me struggle. Folding his long legs under him, he sat on a corner of the blanket, waiting for me as I fought with the damn orange.

“Are you sure?”

I chucked it at him, hitting him square in the chest before it bounced over the cliff behind him. He controlled his smile as he looked up at me.

“Do you want another?”

“No!” I grunted, sitting down across from him on the blanket. “What else is in there?” I nodded toward the basket. I was in a sour mood now. It was stupid of me to wear the bracelet. I clearly wasn’t ready to be around him, and I didn’t know if I ever would be. I’d only come because of one thing he’d written, and it might not have even meant what I thought it did.

“Where do you want me to start? Your most favorite or your least favorite—but still something you like, of course.”

“Most favorite.”

“I hoped you’d say that,” he said, giving me a soft smile. Gods, when he spoke quietly like this, his accent and tilt of his lips made me almost forget what he’d done to me. Reaching into the basket, he pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. When he opened it, unveiling the raspberry cream puffs within, I instantly started salivating.

“Here,” he said, passing the entire parcel over to me. Grabbing one and taking a bite from it, equal parts raspberry filling, cream, and pastry, I closed my eyes and sighed. Gods, they were delicious.

“It tastes just like Cook’s,” I offered, talking with a mouthful of dessert.

“He made them often enough that month for you; my memory is fresh.”

I sobered a bit at the mention of my time in Evenmoor with him. But I came here to see him, to let him try to apologize. Letting negative thoughts distract me was counterproductive.

“I brought the bubbly wine you liked.” He conjured a small glass out of the air before pouring a measure for me. Mama hadn’t let me have alcohol on more than a rare occasion, but Cyran and Ismene drank it nightly. I didn’t like it much, but Ismene had finally found one I liked after a few weeks. Only one glass had me giggling and light-headed.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip from the proffered glass. “Uh, so what have you been doing since I saw you last?” Gods, this was painful.

“Mmm,” he murmured, biding his time by taking a long swig of his own wine. As if I wouldn’t notice that was exactly why he did it. “I’ve been corresponding with the rebels in Folterra. They, uh, they want me to come back. I had told them I’d come back once my business in Astana was finished.”

It took me a moment to realizeIwas the business.

“But you’re still here. Why?”

---