It had been a long time ago, but he would confess he found it strange that he was so much more at ease with Thistle Potts now than he had been, back in their youth. She was right – they were much better matched as a pair now (failures as they were) than they ever had been when tentatively hoping for anything.
Because she was laughing, and so he veered further away from seriousness as well. “No, that’s too much. Too far, Miss Potts,” he protested. “I simply can’t imagine you read Witch Weekly.”
They might not have known each other long enough, or candidly enough, back then to pretend they knew each other inside out, but Endymion trusted his gut feelings fully on the rare occasion he had them. She was certainly not the sort to have much patience with gossip magazines, and she was not in society enough to need to know what they were saying. She was far too sensible. “Do you mean to tell me you have read it?” He quizzed. “I mean, beyond the first page?”
Because she was laughing, and so he veered further away from seriousness as well. “No, that’s too much. Too far, Miss Potts,” he protested. “I simply can’t imagine you read Witch Weekly.”
They might not have known each other long enough, or candidly enough, back then to pretend they knew each other inside out, but Endymion trusted his gut feelings fully on the rare occasion he had them. She was certainly not the sort to have much patience with gossip magazines, and she was not in society enough to need to know what they were saying. She was far too sensible. “Do you mean to tell me you have read it?” He quizzed. “I mean, beyond the first page?”
