Shae resumes his surveillance of Arthur’s lips until Arthur rubs his hand over his chin. “Do I have something on my face?” Shae jumps, nearly dropping his travel bread. He bites his lip, then says, before he can overthink his way around it, “What is this?” He waves his hand. “Us, I mean. Not the bread.” Arthur tilts his head, a familiar smug grin spreading across his face. “I was going to wait until I’d blown you again before asking,”
