Scent of Home

Her jest is taken far too seriously, the teasing game suddenly flipping into something dangerously earnest. Amalia blinks in surprise as he leans closer, the grin on his lips predatory and sharp. Copper colors her narrow cheeks, confusion written in her awkward half-smile as she unconsciously pulls at a lock of hair, trying to decide how on earth to proceed. It isn't that she does not enjoy flirting, but she is woefully, hopelessly out of her depth. There is no clever comeback, nothing better to give but the first thing which rises, unbidden, to her tongue. "I'm not wearing socks." Then she laughs self-consciously, looking away, deeply embarrassed and wildly bemused. This day has taken some strange and unexpected turns, and the girl is entirely without a map. Adam is attractive, in a straggly sort of way, if one liked their partner less body than bone- and Amalia ducks her head to hide her sudden entertainment at the utterly absurd notion of the man as a mate. amalia been talking to myself forever and how I wish I knew me better