Fieran relaxedinto his seat on the couch in the parlor, his stomach filled with supper, his hand resting in the space between him and Pip. They’d taken seats next to each other, yet they weren’t holding hands. Nor had he dared put his arm around her shoulders. Not with his family watching. Even Tryndar had made an appearance—drawn out by food—but he was huddled by Mama and simply stared at Pip with wide eyes.
“And then he ran smack-dab into the door. Not the flat side of the door. No, the door was open so he ran into the end and gouged his forehead on the latch.” Mama shook her head, her smile wry as she told the familiar story from Fieran’s childhood.
“I still have a faint scar from that one.” Fieran tipped his head toward Pip and pointed at his forehead. It was just a barely discernible line that looked more like a wrinkle than anything else.
Pip’s eyes scanned his forehead for a moment before she met his gaze, the look switching from mirth to something with more longing.
Mama pushed to her feet. “Come along, Tryndar. It’s time for bed.”
As if that was the signal, everyone else got to their feet and scattered. Ellie retrieved her book and mumbled something about reading in bed. Louise headed off to her own room with a stack of blueprints clutched in a bag.
Fieran rose to his feet and held out a hand to Pip. He was somewhat sore from all the zip line traveling that afternoon—annoying how something that simple now did him in—but he still had a bit of strength left in him. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Yes.” Pip hopped to her feet as if she’d been waiting all day for just that.
Together, the two of them meandered out the double doors, across the patio, and down the stairs until they reached a faint path winding between the trees.
Fieran kept his pace slow and ambling so that he didn’t make Pip run to keep up with him. Not that he could have managed a faster pace, stiff and sore as he was.
As they walked, they shared stories of growing up. The mischief. The good memories. The bad ones. All of it.
With most people, Fieran found himself talking too much. But with Pip, he rather enjoyed staying quiet as he listened to her talk.
He pointed out one of the large, rambling maple trees as they passed. “I fell out of that tree. One of the times I broke my arm.” The smile dropped from his face as the memories filled him. “Merrik tried to catch me and got dragged out of the tree after me. He broke his arm too.”
It seemed Merrik had always been trying to catch him when he fell. And always paid the price for the attempt.
Pip squeezed his hand and briefly leaned her head against his arm. “I’m sorry. Merrik forgave you for that. With time, he will forgive you for this too. Or realize that it isn’t really your fault.”
Fieran wasn’t so sure. Merrik had yet to answer any of Fieran’s letters. Nor had he called Fieran back, even though he was healing well enough that Aunt Illyna left a few days ago to see about fitting him for a prosthetic. Even Adry had begun to be cagey and not give him information when he talked to her on the telephone.
Anything Fieran knew about Merrik right now came secondhand through the family grapevine. It wasn’t right, but short of traveling to Estyra himself, there wasn’t anything Fieran could do.
He didn’t want to talk about Merrik. Not even with Pip.
They reached a forest glade not far from the outer wall. Here, a swing hung from one of the sturdy branches, the bench seat wide enough for two people to comfortably sit, though it was small enough to encourage cuddling.
Fieran took a seat on the bench, then tugged Pip down next to him.
She snuggled into his side, her head leaning against his shoulder, her hand still clasped in his. “This is a rather convenient swing.”
“Yes.” Fieran leaned his head against hers. “All of us kids learned quite early on not to follow when Dacha and Mama wandered in this direction. Not if we didn’t want to catch them”—he dropped his voice into a scandalized hush—“kissing.”
Pip huffed and gave his arm a light shove. “Thanks a lot. I didn’t need that image in my head.”
Fieran gave in to the urge to press a light kiss to her hair. “I was hoping the mention of kissing would be inspirational.”
“Not when you mention your parents and kissing in the same sentence.” Pip gave another grumbling huff as she lightly shoved her shoulder into him.
That might not have been his best strategic move. But now he had no choice but to plow forward. “Did you never catch your parents kissing?”
“That’s just it. Dwarves are not as retiring and proper as elves.” Pip shook her head against his arm. “Nor do they have the same ideas of what is improper that humans do. It isn’t that dwarves lack standards. But kissing in public—and other public displays of affection—are completely normal for dwarves. So, yeah, I’ve seen my parents kissing way more than my elven half would like.”
Fieran laughed softly into her hair. “Traumatizing.”
“And reassuring, I guess. We never had to wonder if our parents still liked each other.” Pip’s voice lowered, softening, as Fieran gently rocked the swing.
She had been right. He definitely didn’t want to talk about either set of their parents kissing. It was sidetracking them from the main thing. Namely, actually kissing.
