“They’re uneven.”
“They are artistically staggered,” I snap. “There’s a theme.”
He glances down. “The theme is collapse.”
I grit my teeth so hard I think I might crack a molar. Dee’s snickering into her thermos behind me like this is the best entertainment she’s had all month.
“Can we try not to destroy the town square before the festival starts?” I ask, walking over to adjust one of the ground-level lantern bases. “Some of us actually want to preserve this place.”
“Some of us understand that presentation requires structural integrity.”
“You’re one stray smirk away from losing your tusks, Veyr.”
“Threats of violence,” he muses, stepping down from the ladder, “an interesting negotiation strategy.”
I ignore him and move to the next post, struggling with the knot again because the wind’s picked up and keeps slapping the ribbon back into my face. I finally manage to tie it, fingers aching through the gloves, and when I look up, he’s already on the other ladder. No invitation. No warning. Just moving like this is his town and I’m the one encroaching.
“Careful,” I mutter as I steady the base of the ladder. “You fall, I’m not dragging your orc-sized carcass to the clinic.”
“I heal fast.”
“Not from idiocy.”
The lantern he’s hanging glows gold and flickers with the reflection of the snow already falling in a fine mist around us. It’s beautiful, and I hate that I notice. Hate even more the way his coat shifts with the wind, just enough for me to catch the scent of something dark and grounding: cedarwood, steel, and something distinctly him that I want to pretend doesn’t make my heart kick like a deer.
“Clara.”
His voice is quieter now. Still deep, still that strange blend of command and restraint, but not cutting.
“What?”
“Your knot held.”
I glance up. He’s not smiling, not really, but his eyes look warmer than they did a moment ago.
“Of course it did,” I say. “I’m competent, not cute.”
“You’re both.”
I freeze.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink. Just waits.
I stare at him a second too long before I turn back to the next post, trying to swallow the heat crawling up my neck. The wind chooses that moment to gust, hard enough to rattle the lanterns and knock the ladder out of alignment. I reach for it instinctively, but I’m too late.
The ladder slips.
He doesn’t fall far. Just a sharp thud and a grunt, boots hitting the snow in a crouch. I rush over anyway, heart hammering.
“You alright?” I ask before I can help myself.
He stands, brushing the snow off his coat, and nods. “Fine.”
“Could’ve broken something.”
“Only pride.”
I frown at him, but he’s already picking the ladder back up like it didn’t just try to eat him. That’s when I snap.
