How he would miss just... sitting with her, quietly, in front of a fire. Just sitting with her had become one of the chief pleasures of his life.
He allowed a little more time to elapse before he risked the question.
“I don’t suppose I could interest you in a game of Spillikins.”
Her head turned slowly and she regarded him at length.
The air between them became at once dense with portent.
And it was a long moment before she replied.
“You could,” she agreed lightly. Though her voice was faint.
“What will we wager?” he asked, as if it was the most casual question in the world.
Again, they locked eyes.
“If I win...” She inhaled. There was a pause, during which he held his breath. “I want your earring.”
He exulted, quietly.
“And if I win...” He paused at length. “I will take anything you want to give to me, Daphne.”
A moment later, she nodded.
She pulled the little table between them, and shook the sticks out of the tin.
“Would you like to do the honors?” she asked him.
“Why don’t you, so I can go first?”
She nodded. Then she collected the sticks in her fist, then released them with a little clatter.
And Lorcan ducked his head to examine the pile. This time there was no narration.
No sound at all but the ceaseless tick of the rain against the windows and intermittent pops of the fire.
But he examined the pile in his usual way, from various angles.
And so did she. She identified several likely prospects she could safely pluck. No doubt he saw those same options, too.
The world seemed to slow as he reached out.
And Daphne realized he intended to choose a stick guaranteed to topple the pile.
Her breath stopped as he swiftly tugged.
The pile collapsed. The sticks clattered and rolled about the table.
He swore softly. “Clumsy me.”
As Daphne stared at the little wreckage, the room spun violently.
What wouldn’t you do for someone you loved?she’d said to him.
She slowly lifted her head.
She could hear her own staccato breath in her ears as they stared at each other.