“Rough day?” I ask as I pass the jar back to him.
He takes it from me and drinks some before answering. “Yes.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” he says as he rests the jar against his thigh.
I stare down at his strong legs, wishing I were that jar cradled against his lap. His thighs look so sturdy and warm and they seem like the perfect spot to nestle my backside.
My cheeks flush as I imagine sitting there, my long surcoat pooling around us. I’d trace my fingers along the hard lines of muscle on his chest.
He clears his throat, and it brings me back to the present, back to him and those shadows in his eyes.
“I’m a good listener,” I begin. “Grandmother always says so.”
He barely even looks at me, just takes another long pull from the jar.
I try to think of something to say that might ease the tension in his face. “Did you know,” I start, my voice soft, “I once tried to make lavender honey cakes for the summer solstice festival. I was so excited to show off my baking skills, but I mixed up the salt and sugar.”
A hint of curiosity breaks through his stony expression as his eyes flick tomine.
“My family tried to be polite, but their faces...” I laugh as I remember Kassandra running to spit out my cake.
A ghost of a smile flits across Cenric’s mouth as we pass the jug back and forth, and I continue with my stories. I tell him about the time I got stuck in a tree trying to rescue my neighbor’s cat, and how I accidentally dyed all of Kassandra’s clothes pink when I was learning to use plant dyes.
With each tale, the lines around Cenric’s eyes soften. The tension in his shoulders eases bit by bit. It’s like watching ice melt—slow, but steady.
“I saw my mother today,” he says suddenly. “She was alive and well.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I know how long it’s been and how much that must have shaken him.
“Oh, Cenric.” Instinctively, I reach out to touch his arm, but I stop myself just short.
He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t pour out his heart, but in those ten words, I hear a world of hurt, of longing, of confusion. I want to wrap my arms around him, to tell him it’s all right to feel lost, to be angry or sad or whatever he needs to be. But I know that’s not what he wants or needs from me right now.
So, I decide to keep talking about when we were younger. “I remember when you used to climb that sequoia tree near the river in Astarobane. You’d go higher than anyone else dared.”
Surprise flashes in his blue eyes. “You remember that?”
“Of course.” I smile. “I was always so impressed. And terrified you’d fall.”
“I did fall once.Broke my arm.”
“I remember that too. I brought you wildflowers while you were healing.” Heat rises to my cheeks and flames across my face. “You probably don’t remember.”
“I do remember. They were purple and yellow.”
My heart lurches.He remembers.
“What else do you remember?” I ask, curious about what he recalls.
“I remember you trying to walk on water with some limbs you created to look like snowshoes.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me of that.”
Cenric’s mouth twitches. “Why not? It was clever of you to try. Foolish, but clever.”
“I was so embarrassed when I fell in the river.” I shake my head. “Especially with you watching. You probably thought I was a silly little girl.”
