As he wipes his chin when he finishes, she frowns.
“What?” he asks.
“I’ve never seen you shave. And you don’t have even a prickle of a beard. I’d think elves don’t grow facial hair, but Tharios always has a bit of a shadow, and your father definitely has one.”
Only after the words are out does it occur to her that he might not appreciate her pointing out his inability to grow a beard. Human men seem to derive some odd pride from such things.
“I’m only twenty.” He says it as if that explains everything.
“So...”
“So I’m too young.” He shrugs and looks away. “Elves come into their facial hair later than humans.”
“Rominy would envy you.”
Cerian looks back up at that.
“He gets scruffy if he doesn’t shave every day,” she continues.
A slight smile teases Cerian’s face. “I noticed.”
She wanders closer and trails her hand across his smooth chin. “I like you this way.” Then she pulls him into a kiss. He tastes minty.
On top of the faint smokiness.
When a vine tickles her bare foot, she squeals and clutches at Cerian’s shirt before burying her face against his chest as she tries not to laugh. “Sorry.”
“I like when you squeal,” he whispers near her ear.
Of course he does.
As she leans against him, he holds her close and blankets her with his heat. “I need to speak to Father about all these vines again. Some of them are blooming.”
“But they’re so pretty.”
He pokes her, and she grins.
“Are we done here?” he asks.
“I think so. Shall we join the others?”
With a sigh, he nods, and they put on their shoes before making their way downstairs.
As they step into the hallway, Mother’s voice reaches them, and Cerian’s grip on Arisanna’s hand tightens.
“There you are,” Mother says. “I was about to fetch you. I have decided we should go to breakfast together.”
Cerian’s hold almost crushes Arisanna’s hand, and Arisanna resists the urge to sigh.
“Perhaps we should ask if they would like to accompany us,” Father says at Mother’s side. Was that an apologetic look he sent Cerian?
Mother gazes at them expectantly.
Well. It’s not as if they can refuse now. Arisanna would leave Cerian here, but can they even be that far apart? Mother’s favorite restaurant is on the other side of town.
“I would like to check on Elowyn first,” Cerian says quietly, and Arisanna snaps her eyes toward him. He’s still clutching her hand more tightly than he probably realizes, but whatever turmoil fills him is hidden behind those familiar walls of his.
How hard he’s trying. She could kiss him.
