Missing Lily (Tales of Dalthia) by Annette K. Larsen Page B

just...easy.
    After gorging ourselves on everything in sight, we each leaned back on our hands and I admired the way the breeze ruffled his hair. It lent his face a boyish quality.  
    “You’re studying me rather intently,” he commented with a lift of his eyebrow. “Is something on your mind?”
    My cheeks heated. “I was just wondering what you were like as a boy. Did you spend all your days at the pond?”
    A grin claimed his mouth. “Perhaps not all my days, but nearly. My most cherished memories of my father are from our exploits at the pond.”
    His face softened as he sank into the memories and my heart broke a little bit for him, for his loss.  
    “I learned to swim early on, but one day when I was eleven, he and I decided to build a raft.” His eyes cut over to me and I sensed this would be a story of misadventure rather than triumph.
    “I was sitting on it, trying to hold it together while my father went to gather more vines—”
    “Vines?”
    “Yes, you can imagine how sturdy it was.”
    “Oh dear.”
    “That wasn’t the real problem. The problem was that I was so intent on holding it together that I didn’t notice the raft drifting away from shore.”
    I sputtered a laugh, but quickly slapped a hand to my mouth. He just grinned, warming to the memory and the humor.
    “So there I sat on a raft made of what were essentially twigs, floating farther and farther from shore and my father is standing on land with our makeshift ores in his hand and says, calm as can be, ‘Rhys, you seem to have forgotten something.’ So I scream back, ‘Come get me!’ but he just shakes his head. ‘I don’t think your mother would be very happy if I came back all wet, son.’”
    I laughed out loud as he pitched his voice lower to imitate his father.
    “So of course I point out that mother won’t be happy with me either for getting drenched and he just says, ‘I imagine that’s true,’ and tells me to swim to shore before I get any farther out. So I jump out and start swimming and I hear my father shout, ‘The raft, Rhys, don’t forget the raft!’”  
    I hid my face behind a napkin as I laughed, loving his expression and animation. But when my side started to ache, I had to squelch my mirth.  
    “Of course,” Rhys started again, “that was nothing compared to—”
    “Please.” I waved my white napkin in surrender. “It’s hurting my side. I don’t know if I can take any more.”
    I lay back on the blanket, sorry that I had to stop him. Rhys stretched out beside me, and when I turned and saw the way he looked at me, the light-hearted atmosphere dissipated.
    He studied my face, still smiling, but with concern in his eyes. “How is your side doing? I’d forgotten about it for the most part. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
    I shook my head, silenced by his nearness.
    “Good,” he said, smiling as he brushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. Warmth shot through me as his fingers curved around my ear, then grazed my neck. I froze, elated by the affection, until he shook himself out of his distraction and tapped the tip of my nose with his finger before sitting up. “I suppose it’s time we were getting back.” He said it casually, but I knew something had shifted, and it took me a moment to start moving.  
    What I had taken as a romantic gesture had turned into a brotherly show of affection. Lovely.  
    I sat up slowly and started putting things away. Lionel appeared a few moments later to assist with packing up, and we were back in the carriage within minutes.
    Rhys was friendly and talkative on the way back, but somehow it wasn’t the same. He helped me alight when we reached the estate and escorted me inside before he excused himself, saying there was work that had been neglected and wishing me a pleasant afternoon.
    His rather abrupt departure left me cold and a little hurt. I returned to my room in a daze and lay on my bed, trying not to think about Rhys and worrying for my