"So," she said, a little more herself now, "you made me fly all the way to Inksea just to ask me that."
He raised an eyebrow. The lamplight caught the faint gleam in his eyes. "I didn't make you though, you were already coming."
"That's not the point."
"You could have said no."
"I wasn't going to."
The words escaped a little faster than she had intended. She paused. Stan looked, unmistakably, amused. The quiet curve of his mouth made her cheeks warm all over again.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're enjoying this."
"I am."
She shook her head. But she was smiling.
Their hands were, at some point, resting close to each other on the table. The polished wood was cool beneath her palm. Amelia noticed the nearness. Hesitated. Then, after a small quiet moment, she let her fingers rest lightly against his.
His skin was warm. Distinctly, steadily warm. She could feel the faint ridge of his knuckles, the subtle texture of his hand against hers.
