He didn’t know what her sigh meant, exactly, but he heard it – he was too close to her to miss it. It felt, somehow, like a familiar feeling. She didn’t say anything to that effect, and nor did he. But Kristoffer was sure there was something hanging in the air between them, that thin, fragile space between them as they danced, some charged sensation that there was more at stake here than just a dance.
But maybe he was fooling himself about that, imagining things where they weren’t. Maybe he’d been twisting logic too much tonight to try and convince himself there was no feeling there at all. Maybe he’d hoped it would work. Maybe he’d wanted to make her jealous, to avoid her; maybe he wanted to do the opposite now, stay here and dance with her for the rest of the night.
Maybe, he considered, thinking was doing him no good.
Maybe he should just enjoy the dance. “That sounds like a plan, Poppy Dashwood,” Kris declared, squeezing her hand a little tighter in conspiratorial answer, if nothing else. He doubted it would ever happen – but it was almost enough to imagine the adventure they could have. He smiled at her; it was almost his usual smirk. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”
But maybe he was fooling himself about that, imagining things where they weren’t. Maybe he’d been twisting logic too much tonight to try and convince himself there was no feeling there at all. Maybe he’d hoped it would work. Maybe he’d wanted to make her jealous, to avoid her; maybe he wanted to do the opposite now, stay here and dance with her for the rest of the night.
Maybe, he considered, thinking was doing him no good.
Maybe he should just enjoy the dance. “That sounds like a plan, Poppy Dashwood,” Kris declared, squeezing her hand a little tighter in conspiratorial answer, if nothing else. He doubted it would ever happen – but it was almost enough to imagine the adventure they could have. He smiled at her; it was almost his usual smirk. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”
