He kisses her again. Is he going to do that every time she protests?
The hint of berries hits her tongue just before a vine slithers around her ankle, and he pulls back and laughs a little breathlessly. “My magic wants you. Forgive me.”
“Just your magic?”
“Is it ever just my magic?” His thumb grazes her ear, and he takes a slow breath before straightening in his chair. “I wish for all of Arisanna’s favorite foods.”
“Cerian—”
He tilts his head toward her, his lips in a lopsided grin. “I can keep this up all night.”
When he finds her in another gentle kiss, she struggles not to laugh.
A full spread of food sits on the table when he lets her go.
“See?” Cerian says. “The heartlanding is on my side.” His brows wrinkle as he studies the platters and bowls on the table. “You really love soup, don’t you?”
“Maybe. It makes me feel—”
“Warm?” He wraps his arm around her bare shoulders. “You don’t need soup for that. Not anymore.” He floods her with his own heat, and she leans her head on his shoulder.
He’s so happy tonight. It’s hard not to smile in return.
“So, tell me what everything is,” he says, not letting go of her.
“All right.” She names and describes each dish the heartlanding provided. Clearly, the heartlanding knows her well.
“I am going to start with...this.” He reaches for the lobster bisque. He’ll probably end there, too. Everything else has chunks in it. The thought makes her smile, as does the fact that he’s acting perfectly happy to be surrounded by foods that might upturn his stomach if he tried them.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“I believe I will have what you’re having.”
He ladles the soup into a bowl for her as well, and with a glance his way, she reaches for her spoon. He seems a little hesitant as his own spoon hovers over the bisque, but he draws the smallest sip to his lips as she tries to focus on her own bowl and not on him.
Which is impossible since he’s all she can think about right now.
“This is edible,” he says as he stares down at his soup, and Arisanna chokes. He turns sheepish eyes toward her. “Forgive me. I should have kept that to myself.”
She laughs as she reaches for the glass of what looks like champagne beside her plate and takes a sip. Then she almost chokes again. “This is not champagne.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She takes another sip and smiles. “I know what it is. You should try it. I think you’ll like it.”
Hesitantly, he lifts his own fluted glass. “What should I expect? Besides the bubbles?”
How he hates being surprised.
“Apples,” she says softly, and he draws it to his lips.
“It’s fizzy cider,” he breathes after he swallows.
“I believe so.”
“Is that a real thing? Because if it is, I would like to bring some home with us.” He takes a longer drink, and she smiles.
“If it isn’t, we’ll have to suggest it to someone. Because it should be.”
