Page 80 of Marked by the Demigod

In front of her is a green, rolling hill, the tips of every plant coated in silver purple, and she breathes out, slow. "I'm still... angry," she says as she looks around in the warm afternoon sunshine. "I just..."

He nods, and his arm slips around her back, and against her will she leans into him. "I'm constantly surprised you're not more angry. At me."

It's a lot easier to look out at the lavender fields then look at him and actually, you know, confront her feelings. "It comes and goes. You're...usually not around for when I am."

He leans against her. "I didn't think you'd be so..." he trails off, as if grasping for words. "So..." Instead of going further, he pulls her towards the small restaurant behind them. "Try their croissants. And espresso. It's the best I've found."

She follows him, but does not look at him, as if looking at him will be a hair too painful, or, that her eyes would want to look at nothing else. "Best you've found?"

The restaurant is fragrant with the smell of slow baking bread and coffee. "Polish have their comfort food, French have their breakfasts." He signals for the waiter, then leads her to a table tucked in a small alcove, so small they can only see each other and the view out of the window. "Have you ever been to France?"

She shakes her head, looking out at the sea of lavender. "Only in films and pictures."

She risks a glance at him, and he smiles, crooked, and for a moment they sit there, the strangeness and the rawness of their situation sitting on them both.

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