ou kn – He glanced over sharply, but Cerise’s pale face was a sour twist, again in the shadow of that hat. He glanced away, pushing down a strange feeling. It threatened to send a shiver through him; he didn’t let it. They passed under an awning, and he eased the parasol back a little, squinting in the shade. It nearly bumped into the brim of Cerise’s hat.
The question caught him unaware. He looked over again, quirking an eyebrow. “Well, I –” Yes, he thought of lying. Not much, he thought of lying.
He glanced away, caught the eye and the caprise of a brightly-dressed arata weaving by. She smiled; the man with her, neatly-dressed in a white amel’iwe, looked over and smiled too.
These looks were new to him; he couldn’t quite place them. They tickled at something in his memory – the way people’d looked at him, once, when he’d taken her out in West-and-Long or else – he didn’t linger long on the thought. It made him feel strangely self-conscious; he found himself wondering if they could see the resemblance. He thought it would be rather hard not to, in spite of all the freckles, and that made him feel even more self-conscious.
“No,” he said, frowning. “Well, being honest, I can’t remember. I know I had kofi at the hotel, at least. That has to count for something.” He reached up and scratched his jaw, grunting. Thank you, he almost said. Why the hell do you care? he almost asked. He breathed in a now-familiar scent, wafting from somewhere, across the smells of traffic and dust and animals – something cool and tangy, and fresh-baked bread – and felt his stomach rumble.
Must run in the family, he thought to say, and the thought brought a little smile to his face, one that flickered out as his hand dropped back to his side. “Thank you,” he added, in the end. The words were almost swallowed up by a coach that rattled by, drawn by a couple of skinny-legged moa. Almost, but not quite; he spoke up over the sound.
He turned onto Tsiyi’tsota, away from the main thoroughfare.
“Oh.” Cerise’s voice was light enough. There was movement in the corner of his eye; he glanced over, watching Sish squirm, tail lashing, and catching a wicked bright look in Cerise’s cool grey eyes, even in the shadow of her hat. “Uh – no,” he murmured. “I don’t think – Diana…”
He was silent for a few moments, looking back down at his sandaled feet. Tsiyi’tsota was a quiet back street connecting Uduqaper with a tangle of fabric streets, bright and busy. It was a swirl of browns and deep reds, with mostly back doors and small side balconies stacked up with plants on either side.
The smell of baking bread and spices was louder, here, for all its quietness, and the roasting of kofi drifted out of several open windows. There was a bakery tucked into Tsiyi’tsota a little ways down.
He kicked himself, then looked up again. “What,” he said, only a little dampened, “don’t you think I look rather fetching with it?” Managing a grin, he twirled the parasol on his shoulder, watching what he could see of Cerise’s face hopefully. “She isn’t the arbiter of all things fashionable, is she?”
“Good morning,” called a voice.
“Morning, ada’na,” he said, raising a hand.
Efemena was a slight young galdor a little older than Cerise; she was outside the bakery, sweeping around the tables. She raised two fingers, smiling from him to Cerise with a faintly surprised look. He nodded, and she leaned the broom up against the steps and darted inside.
“Godsdamn, I need to sit down.” He laughed, easing into one of the outdoor seats and folding up his parasol. “Kofi always helps with that not-a-morning-person business, doesn’t it? Unless you’ve had too much already,” he added, smiling. If there was still something pinched about his smile, he did his damnedest to push it aside. “Sish seems in a mood this morning.”