"Not you too," Ursik mutters, but I'm already moving, my feet carrying me across the hall before conscious thought catches up with action.
The crowd parts around me—clan members making space for the healer out of habit or respect or simple survival instinct. I don't care about the reason. I only care about closing the distance between myself and the female who's consumed my thoughts for weeks now.
Ressa sees me coming. Her eyes widen slightly, then her mouth curves into a smile that hits me square in the chest.
That smile. Open and genuine and directed at me without the usual wariness lurking underneath.
I reach her position and stop, suddenly uncertain what to do with my hands. Touch her? Keep distance? The kiss yesterday gave me permission for more intimacy, but we're in public now,surrounded by clan members who will notice and comment and make assumptions.
"Hi," she says, the word carrying traces of shyness that shouldn't be endearing but absolutely is.
"Hi yourself." My voice comes rough, scraped raw by feelings I don't have adequate vocabulary to express. "You look—" I pause, searching for words that won't sound awkward. "The dress is nice."
Smooth, Falla. Truly eloquent.
But Ressa's smile widens anyway, pleasure flickering across her features. "Saela helped me make it. Festival colors."
"Green suits you."
"It suits you too." Her gaze travels over my own festival clothing—dark leather with green accents that Kai insisted I wear instead of my usual practical healer gear. "Though I think you'd wear dirt-brown and still look good."
The compliment catches me off guard. I'm not accustomed to Ressa offering unprompted praise, her usual communication style running more toward practical observation—or outright resistance—than flirtation. Heat crawls up the back of my neck despite my better efforts at maintaining composure.
"That's—thank you."
Shae makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh. I glance over to find her watching us with undisguised amusement, her green eyes bright with mischief.
"I should go find Bronn," she announces, the statement carrying a performative quality that suggests she's creating an exit rather than genuinely searching for her mate. "You two should find seats for the exchange. It starts soon."
She disappears into the crowd before either of us can respond, leaving Ressa and me standing together in the middle of the feast hall with half the clan probably watching.
I don't care.
Let them watch. Let them make whatever assumptions they want. Right now all I care about is the female in front of me and the gift I've been carrying in my pocket all evening, waiting for the right moment to present.
"Want to find somewhere to sit?" I gesture vaguely toward the tables arranged throughout the hall. "Before all the good spots get claimed."
"Sure." Ressa falls into step beside me as we navigate through the crowd, close enough our shoulders brush occasionally. Each incidental contact sends awareness sparking through my nervous system like touching live flame.
This is new. This acute consciousness of another person's proximity, the way my entire focus narrows to her movements and expressions and the small sounds she makes when navigating tight spaces between bodies. I've spent forty years avoiding this exact sensation—the vulnerability of caring whether someone stays close or drifts away.
Turns out I'm terrible at avoiding it when Ressa's involved.
We claim spots at one of the smaller tables near the outer edge of the hall, the position offering relative privacy despite the crowd. Ressa settles onto the bench with careful movements, her body language still carrying traces of old injuries even though I know she's healing properly.
Old habits. Protective instincts that linger past their usefulness.
I want to tell her she doesn't need to move carefully anymore, that her body's proven its resilience through proper healing. But that seems too clinical for tonight, too much healer and not enough whatever-we-are-now.
"Nervous?" I ask instead, the question covering multiple potential concerns.
"A little." She touches the fabric of her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles. "I've never done gift exchanges before. Not formal ones like this."
"It's not complicated. We give each other what we made. People make speeches if they want. Mostly it's an excuse for the clan to eat too much and get sentimental."
That earns me a small laugh. "You make it sound very romantic."
"Romance involves sentiment. I'm just stating facts."
