“Perhaps I can appeal, then, to the romantic nature of our situation.” Without moving, everything about Ariel reached for her. “The open road, the veil of night drawn over the world, us living as vagabonds.”
Usually, Peaseblossom played the part of Bertie’s tiny little conscience, but this time, she issued the requisite Dire Warning to herself:
Don't think about how close he is, or the fact that all you'd have to do to kiss him is tilt your head. Think of Nate . . . .
“If you’re done with whatever fierce internal argument is creasing your forehead—” Ariel's low laugh undid the knot she had tied on her resolve. A bit of his wind pushed her nearly into his lap, and their lips met.
Bertie's brain fogged over until the fairies’ collective noises of disgust recalled her to her senses. Pulling away, she muttered, “Vagabonds don't wear crinolines.”