I smile. He is rather fun to fluster, “Nothing,” I reply, “Merely that I could practically follow the processes of your mind as you examined the window.”
“Oh. Is that bad?” He asks.
"Not at all. Although I daresay you won't want to try to earn a living as a professional gambler,” I grin.
He laughs at that, “Certainly not, but I …,” His eyes narrow, “If you can tell so well what I am thinking, what precisely do you think I was thinking?”
I feel something young and carefree taking hold of me, something I haven’t felt in all the years since I was left for dead, and even though I know this can’t possibly go anywhere, I am powerless to stop myself as I step forward and say, “You were thinking you would like to kiss me again.”
"I was not!” He says indignantly.
‘He so was,’ C
