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They swallowed the last of the pastry. “What?”

“I owe you something,” she said.

They didn’t let their gaze drop to her mouth. Their heart began to pound, and they tried to sound offhand as they drawled in response.

“Another kiss? I thought we were finished.”

“Something else.” Her smile was a bewitchment. “Come closer.”

They scooted forward on the bench. “Should I shut my eyes?”

“If you like.”

Her sugary tone set off warning bells. They lowered their lashes, not all the way, and saw her hand flash out.

An instant later, cold water slapped the side of their face.

“That’s hardly sporting,” they began, but sporting became a sputter, as more river water splashed into their mouth.

“You threw me into a pond!” She splashed them again, expression delightedly righteous. “This is your just deserts.”

“A half measure, really.” They wiped their face with their sleeve. “Just deserts is throwing me in the river.” They bared their teeth. “If you dare.”

She looked at them warily.

“You don’t,” they observed. “Well, that’s for the best. It would be unwise.”

She pounced, seizing them around the waist. The boat rocked. They felt absurdly joyous as they wrestled her down to the boat’s floor.

“Do you give up?” They were half on top of her, their legs and hers in a tangle, jammed beneath a thwart. The boat was hard, and various objects poked at them, but Elf was soft and warm, and they’d swear on their life she smelled like rainbows. Red was strawberry. Orange was orange. Yellow was a lovely lemon custard.

“I don’t give up.” She tried to twist.

“Ow,” they said mildly. “Easy there.”

She twisted again, this time managing to flip onto her side. This maneuver had the inadvertent effect of trapping their arm between them. Their palm came flush against her breast.

She froze, her face inches from theirs. They froze too. Their gaze traced her brows, the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the freckles below her right eye. Her eyes themselves were midnight dark, glowing with midnight’s magic. They could feel her heart beating into their hand. If they curled their fingers, they could tug down her bodice. Their other hand was free to slide up her skirt, to skate over her stockings, over the bare skin of her thigh.

“You win.” They bolted to sitting, squirming away from her, voice hoarse. “I give up. I will throw myself into the river.”

“Don’t.” She fumbled upright, raking back her hair. “You need to steer the boat.”

They collapsed onto their bench, grabbing for the oars. “Another time, then. At your convenience.” They rowed, without looking at her, because if they did, they might wrestle her down again, and lick her neck, eat her in bites.

Shipwreck the boat.

Spoil the friendship.

Their eyes roamed the landscape. It appeared aroused in its own right, every budded blossom on the verge of bursting open, every open flower sticky and swollen, petals ready to drop. The sap coursed audibly through the trees. And the birds! Had birds ever twittered so excitedly?

I will destroy you.

She’d vowed it in that pasture. She was small but strangely powerful. They should have known then to fear for their body and soul.

“Tell me something about the ninth century,” they demanded. Boredom was the solution. Boredom was ardor cooling.

In the pause that followed, they listened to the birds, the sap, the plash of the oars.