I should say something about her dress. Something smooth. Something that tells her exactly what I thought when I opened that door and found her in my arms.
But smooth has never been my thing, and anything too honest is going to get me in trouble.
So I go with the truth in its simplest form.
“You look incredible,” I tell her.
The bravado goes right out of her. Her smile falters into something smaller and softer.
“Thank you,” she says.
There’s a pause.
Then, because she’s Tavey and apparently allergic to silence, she adds, “I was worried I might look ridiculous.”
“You don’t.”
“I know there are a lot of accessories.”
“I noticed.”
“There are dragon hair clips.”
“I noticed those too.”
“And the dragon purse.”
I look down at the clutch in her hand. “That one was harder to miss.”
She brightens. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“It’s definitely something.”
She gasps. “That is not an answer.”
“It’s a purse shaped like a dragon.”
“Exactly. Because Daenerys Targaryen has three dragons: Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion.” As she says their names, she points to the purse and then the two hair clips.
Which I now notice are each a different color combination.
I nod like that settles the issue. “Obviously.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re teasing me.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Interesting.” She starts walking toward the main building, forcing me to fall into step beside her. “And here I thought dressing up for me meant you were going to be on your best behavior.”
“I am on my best behavior.”
She glances up at me, deeply skeptical. “This is your best behavior?”
“Absolutely.”
“We’re doomed.”
I put a hand at the small of her back as we step off the porch and onto the gravel path. The move is instinctive. Practical. There’s a slight drop in thepath and those ridiculous trailing scarves are clearly a threat to public safety.
