She leans back, her hands ending up somewhere nearer his throat, and their faces only inches apart. She studies him, equal parts unsettled and — amused.


"Y'can start by comin' to the stables an' learnin' t'ride Concession, like y'promised y'would. Learn basic wilderness survival. Prove t'me that you're takin' this seriously."

Her fingers glide across the muscles in his shoulders, reading his body like braille.


"An' you can take me on a picnic."