Page 20 of The Sun He Buried

We reach my door much too soon.

Baldr turns to face me. I let go of his arm and smooth both hands over my skirt, though nothing is wrong with it. A curl has escaped Asta’s work and fallen across my cheek.

He tucks it behind my ear. I stop smoothing my skirt.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for surviving the granary.”

“You’re welcome.”

His fingers stay beside my ear. Barely touching.

I look up. He could kiss me now.

Oh.

He might.

My brain begins producing instructions, none of them useful. Stand still. Don’t stand too still. Breathe, but quietly. Maybe close my eyes. Not yet. If I close them now, he may think I’ve fallen asleep against the door.

Baldr watches my face.

“Sól.”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you?”

Every instruction disappears.

“Yes.”

He bends. I rise onto my toes, and his hand settles at my waist over the green fabric. His mouth touches mine, warm and soft and careful enough that I have time to understand it.

Baldr is kissing me.

My heel slips back to the floor. I catch the front of his tunic, and he smiles against my mouth. That won’t do. I kiss him again.

The careful part lasts another second.

His other hand comes to my cheek. Mine stays fisted in his tunic. He tastes of honey and wine, and when he pulls back, I follow before I remember I’m attached to my own feet.

His forehead rests against mine.

“Still all right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re holding me very tightly.”

I look down.

The silver stitching at his collar is trapped in my fist.

“I’m making sure you don’t fall.”

“Thoughtful.”