“Favorite drink,” he challenged.
“Rose wine. Or sweet grallo. You?” She put the lotho back, aware they had plenty of it at the house, and carried on. They stopped in front of one of the grallo shelves. Cassia started to sort through the roots, checking for firmness and blemishes.
“Apple cider. Don't tell Mavek I said that. Favorite custard?” Aevrin came to a stop close to her, his arm nearly brushing against her. He pulled the cart behind them so Cassia could reach it easily.
“I like it plain.” She stacked several of the dark grallo roots into the cart. There was no need to spend more money getting the roasted, powdered root when she could do it herself.
“I…Plain?” He sounded positively outraged. Aevrin was staring at her with the most judgmental look she’d ever seen in his dark eyes. “Now, Miss Cassia…”
She didn’t like it when people insulted her taste. It was the one thing she’d been able to take pride in.
“Only if it’s a good one!” He was so close that she grabbed his arm without thinking, pleading with him to see her point of view. Aevrin didn’t shrug off the contact, just stared down at her eyes.
“Listen, I know you’re sweet, Miss Cassia, but you’re way too complicated to be aplaingirl. Youmustlike it kinkier than that.”
Cassia blinked rapidly. Her brain sputtered. She had to fight to keep her jaw connected to the rest of her.
She really couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or if Aevrin had absolutely no idea how sexual his wordssounded. He was staring straight into her eyes, and she couldn’t look away or make herself back up. Her brain was running in panicked circles, becauseAevrin Rivekerwas two inches from her and staring down at her with all his focus and talking about being plain or kinky.Aevrinwas talking to her, his arm under her hand, and sure, it wasn’t really unusual for them to talk, but…Aevrin Riveker, her mind bleated again like a goat.
He was positively intoxicating and her thoughts were totally scrambled. Custard. They were talking about custard flavors, of all things.
Notsex.
“If it’s agoodone,” she insisted again, hearing herself talk like she was outside her own body, too aware of the blush in her cheeks. She still couldn’t make her hand move from his arm. He still hadn’t pushed her off him. “Saints, I bet you’ve never evenhada good, simple custard. I’m not talking about the cheap stuff.”
“I don’t care if you paid ten hundred for a bowl,” he cried, glaring down at her. “There is no way in the Saint’s good realm thatplain custardis the best custard. You’re out of your mind.”
“Excuse me, who’s the cook? Me, or you?”
“Now Iknowyou didn’t just say I had no taste.” Aevrin raised his eyebrows but leaned even closer to her, challenging her. They were inches apart. Cassia’s whole body tightened, a pressure between her legs pulsing once in awareness of his nearness.
“Of course you have taste. Your taste just isn’t as good as mine,” she whispered, staring up into his eyes.
Aevrin scoffed and finally jerked out of her grip. For a moment her panic spiked, worried she’d crossed a line with her teasing and made him mad.
He fought the lazy-wheeled, squeaking wagon in a tight circle until he was facing the other way.
“Plain!” Aevrin scoffed, and strode towards the near end of the aisle. “There ain’t noway. Come on, Miss Cassia, we’ve gotta settle this. You've lost your mind.”
“What? Oh, Saints, Aevrin! We can't get custardnow. If you really want some, I’ll make it when we get home.” She hurried after him, nearly jogging to keep up with his long legs. It was good the moment had ended. If they’d stayed that way a second longer she might have done something truly stupid, like kissing him. Aevrin would’ve had to tell herno thanks, and everything would’ve gone sour.
“Oh, we're not waiting until we get home, Miss Cassia,” Aevrin said, still striding through the store like a wronged man with a vengeance. The squeaky wagon he towed behind him kind of ruined the effect. “You may not know this about me, but I got a bit of a competitive side, and you just told me I got no taste. I can't let that go.”
“Does ‘competitive streak’ mean ‘actually moon-mad?’” She asked as she raced after him.
“I'm paying your insults no mind, Miss Cassia,” Aevrin told her. “You just know you're going to lose, that's all. Plain, ha!”
“Well, sure, if we have to buy it already made! Itoldyou, the plain ones are all about the ingredients.”
They crossed all the way to the other end of the store, dodging other shoppers. Cassia stared longingly down the aisles as they hurled passed spices, the baking goods, grains, cleaning supplies, dairy products, and oils. There was no time to stop and inspect the offerings, much less put what she needed in the wagon. Finally Aevrin careened down an aisle and brought the wagon to a rickety halt. Cassia nearly thumped into his broad back. He yanked the preservation chesthe’d stopped at open, ignoring the grumble of its plants at the rancher’s rough handling.
“Huh.”
“What?” She felt a little out of breath.
“… I don't see any green-pea custard. This store must have terrible taste,” he said, and gave her a withering look before bending down into the crate to sort through the preserved baked custards, each wrapped in heavy paper.
“Deviant,” she informed him, and bumped lightly into him on purpose as she shouldered in, on the hunt for the best-looking plain custard she could find. “You knownoneof these will be good, compared to fresh-made?” Aevrin only grunted in response.
