Crouching in front of the fire like this, Anthony felt petulant: like a child that needed scolding. He was being impossibly rude and to a fault. He was not normally so frosty, and Victoire (probably) didn’t deserve it. He tried to rein in his irritation but it was hard. It wasn’t until her sweet voice actually cut through the tension that he managed. Looking over his shoulder at her, prepared to hand the item over, Anthony was startled by what he saw.

Now… Anthony Alderton was no prude. He’d been with (albeit only a few) women before, and he’d seen his fair share of ankles and legs. But this particular specimen was not one he’d imagined he’d see ever, especially after the events of the New Year! Face warming, the brunette stood abruptly and knocked over one of the nearest crates. It rattled tellingly to the side and sent some small creature scampering. “Er— of course,” he replied gruffly, averting his gaze and crossing the space over to her with stilted control.

He didn’t know why he was being such a moron. They were both adults after all. What was an ankle really, anyway? Besides the one appendage that led to something else that he couldn’t stop thinking about— “Sorry,” the brunette said stupidly, face now quite enflamed.

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