“You had some whipped cream there,” he explains.
“Oh, thanks,” I say casually.
I duck my head and furiously rub my face to make sure there’s nothing else on it.
“You should have licked it off,” Cato tells him.
His packmates immediately reprimand him.
I stifle my laughter at Cato’s attitude, not seeming to notice their irritation with him.
“That comment was unnecessary,” Orion says.
“Why waste good food? Don’t you agree, Hestia?” Cato says.
“Napkins work better than a tongue,” Henri says before I can reply.
“I suppose it depends on the skill of the tongue,” Cato says.
Henri blushes, and Orion and Charm scold him again.
I bury my face in my cup to hide my giggles.
Cato smirks and lets them talk. Orion is saying something about integrity and social awareness. To be honest, I’m not following his lecture that closely either.
It is funny when Cato flusters people other than me. Henri looked cute getting all embarrassed about the tongue thing.
Plus, Cato’s right, why waste good food.
I lick off some of the whipped cream since it isn’t melting fast enough, making sure to scoop up some of the chocolate shavings and gingerbread spice.
I forget my plan to just take a little off the top and end up eating most of the whipped cream before I realize what I’m doing.
Everyone is staring when I look up.
“My tongue seems skilled enough,” is the only thing I can think to say, and give them a thumbs up.
Charm sounds like he’s choking. Henri rubs his nose nervously. Magnus, of course, just turns away. Orion’s mouth is open, but no coherent words come out.
And Cato. Cato actuallylaughs.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard a full-throated laugh from him before, it’s always snickering or smug chuckles.
His laugh is amazing, deep and rumbly like a purr, the sound a caress.
I never imagined my stupid response would elicit that reaction. It makes me want to keep teasing him to hear it again and again.
“Do you want to go for a walk around the square? We haven’t seen all the decorations yet,” Charm says, his voice higher than usual, clearly trying to ignore my innuendo.
“Sure, that sounds fun,” I say, accepting the change in subject.
I don’t want to make the others uncomfortable, so I’ll save my spicier teasing for when Cato and I are alone.
We go over to look at the Yule tree, even though you can see it from across the square. It’s covered in multicolor lights and tinsel, glittering and twinkling under the snowy gray sky. The only ornaments are large, golden glass stars. Some of the tinsel is arranged to look like light trails behind them, falling stars. The largest star is at the top of the tree, lit from within by more twinkling lights.
“Do you like it?” Orion asks.
“It’s amazing! So big and bright,” I say, still staring up at the tree.
