*Horace*
“You brought it on yourself,” Rapunzel says with a delightful chuckle. “I fully expect that at the age of eighty, I’ll still be pulling you away from fishy reports and teasing you into a display of humor.”
“A sense of humor?” I repeat lazily. “Are you quite certain I have one?”
She nods. “I am sure. Although the wry, funny part of you disappears during talk of wheat and eels, and instead, I finds myself looking at a man who’s finding no pleasure in life.”
I start to disagree, but she hasn’t finished. “That’s not quite right. You do enjoy your work, don’t you?”
Work? I enjoy the delicate curve of her cheek, the deep rose of her lips, the way her eyelashes curl. Even the way she is dissecting me.
Rapunzel leans forward and gives my knee a little poke. “Horace, are you listenin
