As Mr. Lestrange stepped closer and held her fully in his grasp, Poppy felt something in her stomach rustle; it was like a cage of doxies had been opened and all of them decided to flutter about, brushing their delicate wings against her intestines. (She hadn’t felt anything so strong all evening and the very thought almost made her want to frown. She had to be careful not to grow too keen on a gentleman that had no intention to marry after all. Not… that she had confirmation of this fact in any way, but if one was to assume—)Poppy searched deep blue eyes from a distance she’d not yet been privileged to maintain. Not properly, at least. She searched for answers to questions she wouldn’t even really let herself consider, knowing full well this moment of theirs was a shared bubble of confidence that would burst sooner or later. Still, she endeavored to enjoy it as much as she could while it lasted. A shy but tremendously pleased little smile stole across her features then as he, too, acquiesced to be called by his given name. Kristoffer. How marvelous.
For a moment, Poppy considered pushing a new boundary and turning their warm little moment into a lighthearted tease by asking if he’d ever been called ‘Kris’ or anything of the sort by family-members. She did like a god nickname after all. But that seemed both much too personal, and slightly presumptuous, so she held her tongue. Instead, the brunette nodded, dislodging one of her curls. “Kristoffer,” she repeated, quietly. The name sounded foreign on her tongue, but tasted of citrus and sweet.
© Fox