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“Then I suppose you have another thing to look forward to when we go to the beach, if I can find something suitable to wear.”
He was absolutely not planning to get anywhere near the water.
He was absolutely not planning to get anywhere near the water.
Clive raises a brow at her as he stands up.
“Me? Swimming?”
“Me? Swimming?”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
It’s an earnest attempt at being game.
It’s an earnest attempt at being game.
“I should be there to protect you if some fiend lunges out,” he says, picking up his keys off the entrance table.
Edited 2024-03-24 00:01 (UTC)
A very real possibility.
"If that gets you out there, so be it."
Jill waits for Clive to lock the door behind them before glancing up at him and reaching for his elbow. She doesn't hold on tightly, the look on her face quietly questioning. Is this okay?
"If that gets you out there, so be it."
Jill waits for Clive to lock the door behind them before glancing up at him and reaching for his elbow. She doesn't hold on tightly, the look on her face quietly questioning. Is this okay?
He glances at the hand on his elbow and then at her, but he doesn’t pull loose. In fact, he lays his hand over hers briefly and squeezes.
“No crying wolf at the beach,” he says.
“No crying wolf at the beach,” he says.
“Perhaps we just stay on land for your safety,” he says, leading her down the steps.
"You can enjoy the water without going into it," he says. "Isn't it nice, to sit by a river and watch the stream move by?"
True.
“Of course not,” he says, fixing her with a mild look. “But it has been some time.”
“Of course not,” he says, fixing her with a mild look. “But it has been some time.”
“We’ll see what it’s like when we get there,” he says, but it’s something of a concession. There are at least a few months until then, he figures.
The question makes him pause, even though there’s nothing to think about. He has no plans.
“Warmer weather, I suppose.”
It’s something.
“Warmer weather, I suppose.”
It’s something.
“That would be nice,” he agrees. He reaches for her hand to squeeze it again. “Whatever you choose will be beautiful.”
It’s odd to hear her refer to it as their home, no matter how many times she says it. For a long while he’d felt he’d manipulated her into it, between Torgal and his risk of injury and whatever lingering feelings she had. Now, for the first time, he realizes he believes it.
“Red gazanias, perhaps?”
“Red gazanias, perhaps?”
It’s good to see her smile so genuinely.
“What kinds of flowers do you want?”
“What kinds of flowers do you want?”
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