as I arrived I thought I saw you leaving, carrying your shoes
Soren was about to say something else across the counter to the guild master, but stopped, irritation pricking first, sharp and instinctive, before surprise had the chance to settle. For a second he genuinely considered that she might be speaking to someone behind him. Someone not currently bargaining with the last of his coin like a man trying to hold his own ribs together by force of will.
But the purse was aimed squarely at him. Suspicion flickered up. His first instinct was always to brace, to look for the hook hidden behind the bait. Kindness usually came sharpened.
Still, the purse was there, annd the woman’s expression carried none of the smugness he expected from someone catching him in a vulnerable moment. Just openness. Easy, like a warm breeze whispering across the beach, and that matched the softness in her sea foam eyes.
Which almost made it worse.
His jaw flexed. Pride kicked hard in his chest, but practicality—the part of him honed by lean years and every lesson he’d learned the hard way—slid in behind it. Aithne’s face rose unbidden in his mind: that small flare of wonder she tried so hard to hide whenever she imagined building something that belonged to her.
Curtains. Warmth. A home.
He exhaled through his nose, a sound halfway to a scoff, annd reached out. His fingers brushed the purse first—testing the weight—before he closed his hand around it. The leather was soft, worn from handling, and it was heavier than he expected. “Guess it is my lucky day, this is mine.” But even as he said it, he was still watching her with narrow, assessing emerald eyes—trying to figure out what she wanted in return.
Soren couldn’t decide if she was very generous, or if she was stupid. He had always been skeptical about this kind of treatment. In Stormbreak, in the circles his family ran in, there was never this kind of handout given without some expectation of matching or exceeding it to follow in return. Soren’s jaw feathered, but he turned to the guild master again, eyes masking the surprise and embarrassment and pride that all mixed and mingled together in his chest.
But the purse was aimed squarely at him. Suspicion flickered up. His first instinct was always to brace, to look for the hook hidden behind the bait. Kindness usually came sharpened.
Still, the purse was there, annd the woman’s expression carried none of the smugness he expected from someone catching him in a vulnerable moment. Just openness. Easy, like a warm breeze whispering across the beach, and that matched the softness in her sea foam eyes.
Which almost made it worse.
His jaw flexed. Pride kicked hard in his chest, but practicality—the part of him honed by lean years and every lesson he’d learned the hard way—slid in behind it. Aithne’s face rose unbidden in his mind: that small flare of wonder she tried so hard to hide whenever she imagined building something that belonged to her.
Curtains. Warmth. A home.
He exhaled through his nose, a sound halfway to a scoff, annd reached out. His fingers brushed the purse first—testing the weight—before he closed his hand around it. The leather was soft, worn from handling, and it was heavier than he expected. “Guess it is my lucky day, this is mine.” But even as he said it, he was still watching her with narrow, assessing emerald eyes—trying to figure out what she wanted in return.
Soren couldn’t decide if she was very generous, or if she was stupid. He had always been skeptical about this kind of treatment. In Stormbreak, in the circles his family ran in, there was never this kind of handout given without some expectation of matching or exceeding it to follow in return. Soren’s jaw feathered, but he turned to the guild master again, eyes masking the surprise and embarrassment and pride that all mixed and mingled together in his chest.
Soren
decided that once again I was just dreaming of bumping into you
