Ulysses shook his head, giving her a sedate little smile. “Best not to tempt myself,” he said with a shrug. “And I’d hate to dampen the festivities. But this was wonderful. Truly wonderful. Can I come again?”
“Come for every performance, if you like,” Libba told him, a flicker of pleasant surprise tapping her ribs. “I’ll tell the box office you’re paid for.”
“Every performance,” he repeated softly. “Yes, I might do.”
From behind them, she caught Malcolm’s eye and touched her father’s and Jasper’s shoulders briefly as she passed them,en route to her brother, who watched her approach with a faint mélange of fondness and annoyance in the clashing tilt of his eyes and his mouth.
“Well,” she said, smelling her roses and leaning against the banister. “You were right.”
“I was?” Malcolm asked, clearly shocked by that statement. “Which time?”
Libba rolled her eyes. “About the Shakespeare. And the ticket sales.”
“Ah,” he said, his brow smoothing as a smirk found its way onto his lips. “Of course I was.”
“All right,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Are you coming to the Cauldron?”
“Of course,” he said. “Two-pint rule.”
“Two-pint rule,” she agreed. “I’ll see you there?”
He nodded. “Is … erm …?”
“No,” she answered, patting his arm. “He’s going home. You won’t be forced to speak.”
He grimaced but visibly lost some tension about his shoulders and neck. “Right. I would’ve gone, anyway.”
“I know,” she said. “Maybe tell the barman to prep the pickle brine, though. If you get there first.”
He chuckled, both of them turning to look at Hattie, who was stroking her belly as she entertained a group of admirers. “I think she’s onto sugar now, to be honest,” he said. “I caught her sipping clotted cream the other night.”
“The baby will have refined tastes, I think,” Libba said, blinking. “Or strange ones.”
It took another half hour before the theater had finally cleared, with only the troupe itself and Jasper staying behind inside. The former to change out of costume and the latter… Well, she supposed he just liked staying close.
“You aren’t going to the pub?” she asked playfully as he approached her at the foot of the stage, where she was sitting in exactly the same place she had been some weeks ago, when he’d taken her home for the first time. “That doesn’t change the rule, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he said to her, hands in pockets, smiling up at her. “Look at all these flowers!”
She nodded, grinning as she looked at the series of bouquets and cards that had been arranged down the lip of the stage. It was an opening night tradition amongst her people. They shared in the gifts and accolades for the first night before each gift stayed with its respective recipient.
“Who do you think got tulips this late in the year?” she marveled, gesturing at a yellow bunch farther down the line.
“Someone rich,” he guessed. “Or Dutch.”
“Or both,” she said, nodding. “Help me down?”
He held his arms out to her, catching her about the waist as she pushed off of the stage and holding her tight as she slid down his body to stand, smiling up at him as he gave a little grunt of restraint.
“We can go now if you like,” she said to him, toying with his lapels. “The others can lock up.”
“Oh, if I like, is it?” he said, running his hands down the satin-lined curve of her back. “My priorities might have suddenly changed just now.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said with a mock pout. “You already committed to the first ones.”
They laughed together, grasping hands as they made their way down the aisle and into the lobby, pausing only because a forgotten bouquet was sitting next to the door, with a cream-and-ivory card propped against bright pink dahlia blooms.
“Oh,” he said happily. “You missed one.”
