Despite being on the first level of the Citadel, the massive courtyard remains hidden behind towering walls of stone and sediment. An elongated central patch of neatly trimmed grass stretches out for almost fifty-meters while maintaining a twenty-meter width. At the center of the grass is a large, ovular fountain in the shape of the Arcona emblem, with water running from the tips of each pointed edge. Vegetation grows along some of the walls, and an archaic clock-face is carved into the face of one of the entryways. A small group of rotating sharpshooters are scattered across the walls as the courtyard is supposed to serve as a safe place for Arconans to enjoy some quiet time, or to meet with visitors. It has served as the venue for multiple honor duels over time and there is a significant crater off to the side of the grass left behind as a result of a contest between Marick Arconae and Wuntila Arconae. The duel had taken place prior to either Arconae serving as Shadow Lords and in a quieter time before all Arcona knew was warfare.

Towards the back of the courtyard, closer to the base of the cliff that the Citadel is constructed upon, a tall tree shoots up from the stone, its shade guarding an entrance into the Citadel proper.

The sun hung high in the midday sky, warming the courtyard nicely when he found her. The Arconan summit had just finished one of its rare in-person meetings. It was one of the few times those who ran the outlier shadowport of Ol’val had cause to be on world. Stres’tron’garmis hesitated, uncharacteristically of the bombastic and confident man, as he saw the Quaestor of Qel Droma standing in the courtyard. Her purple face was lifted to the sky, eyes closed and lekku draped over her shoulders, soaking in the sun. Last he had seen the Twi’lek was during Ol’val’s spirit night, or Hallow’s Eve, when they had both had a few drinks, danced with one another, and gone to find some delectable street food that she had referred to as ‘noodts’ in her delightful accent. When they had parted at her door, she had graced the Chiss with a tired smile.

Nearly three weeks on, he was still cherishing that smile and the memory of both dancing with the woman and the simple pleasure of sharing a meal. He straightened his uniform jacket and stepped into the light, squaring his shoulders.

“Delightful weather for so late in the year, is it not?” he asked, restraining his usual booming voice. “I believe Ol’val has a few sunning rooms, but nothing compares to actual sunlight.”

She turned her golden eyes on the blue man, who was looking up at the sky as well, hands held behind his back at parade rest. The silence between the two was palpable, only broken by the sounds of the nearby fountain.

“Strong,” she spoke, her tone clipped and neutral. Tali waited for him to turn his head to look at her, his face clouding over in concern at her response. She gave him a curt nod and turned on her heel, moving to return to the Citadel.

“Miss Sro— Tali,” he caught himself. Formality had its place, but he thought they had become friends at the very least, even if he was hoping for something deeper. Even if he had professed an interest in her well being, and his growing feelings for the self-titled LekWarrior. “Is something amiss? Can I help?”

She stopped mid-stride, dropping her leading foot and turning slowly to face him, her shoulders hunched slightly and lekku quivering.

“I thought you respectedt me, Mister Garmis. I thought we hadt agreedt I vas capable of taking care of myself,” she said, her voice a mix of dismissal and anger. She sighed and shook her head, “I do not have time for this.”

“Time for what?” asked the confused General, reaching out to lay a hand gently on her shoulder as she started to turn away again. “I do not understand, Tali, what have I done to vex you—” he tried to follow up with another question, only to catch sight of her flashing eyes as she rounded on him.

Then he was in the nearby fountain, Strong realizing she had used the Force to fling him backward. His boots were up in the air and one of the only parts of him that was still dry, kicking ineffectively. He sputtered and coughed, pushing himself out the water, no less confused than before.

“I do not understand,” he said, gasping still. “Please, Tali, allow me to make amends...barring that, tell me what I have done, I beseech you! I have tried my best to do nothing but treat you with the utmost respect, and contain the feelings I have professed to you!”

He stood, his soaked jacket dripping down his dress pants and into his boots. The Rollmaster looked downcast, as pathetic as the Twi’lek had ever seen him. Her hand twitched, whether to draw the curved hilt at her waist or to reach out and lay a hand on him in comfort, even she wasn’t certain. Anger fumed under the surface. She did not have time for this man, she had work, she had demands on her person from every member of her House, she did not have time for this man who reportedly ‘got around’ the Clan.

Her hand settled on the saber, its presence a comfort as she tried to focus. To the Chiss, it was another implied threat that he tried to parse with the rest of the situation.

What the hell did I do? he asked himself, his mind racing. He winced, “Is this about Miss Frey’lia?”

“Vhat!?”

“I...the night before the gathering on Ol’val, we had one here at the Citadel. I drank too much, though that is no excuse for my faltering in my attempts to be...better,” he finished lamely. The implication was quite clear.

“You think I care about your conquests!?” she scoffed, lifting her left hand and making a pulling motion at the big man. He grunted but didn’t fight the familiar feeling of someone telekinetically dragging him across the grass, boots digging a furrow. Tali stood as tall as she could, hands planted on her hips as she glared up at him. “I insistedt, inisistedt, that I pay for my own noodts! You vouldt not even allow me that freedomt! You vaitedt until I vent to the refresher and paidt for both our meals! You do not respect my independence, andt I,” her golden eyes flashed darker again, and Strong tensed, “vill not,” she continued, drawing an arm back, hand balled into a fist, “be ownedt again!” she shouted.

He winced again, even before she threw the punch. He made no effort to avoid it, still confused. When he found himself in the fountain again, her hit reinforced with telekinetic power, he questioned his thought process. With a grunt he pulled himself out of the water, shaking his head and blinking away the cold water running into his eyes. What he saw was less than encouraging: the Twi’lek standing with yellow saber humming and eyes full of anger.

“I vill prove I am capable of looking after myself,” she hissed in annoyance. She glanced at his leg meaningfully, “Perhaps this time you vill defendt yourself.”

Strong recalled the searing pain of the LekWarrior’s saber piercing his thigh earlier in the year, when she had succumbed to anger. That had been an entirely different situation and not something he held against her.

“I meant no offense, but if fighting will help in our….understandings of one another,” he sighed, hand going to the sword at his waist, “so be it.”

The bilari’s filament edge sparked to life, the angry red line pulsing as he lifted the blade in salute. He couldn’t help but marvel at the woman before him as she dropped into a stance. One foot leading while the other bent lower, her saber in a reverse grip behind her, offhand in front of her. She moved forward swiftly, her back leg giving her momentum as she charged the Chiss. Her arm swung around, the saber sparking off his sword as she displayed her agile prowess, not staying in place long enough for even a proper counterattack from the General.

He tried, he did, to press an attack, but Strong couldn’t help but not want the fight that he found himself in. It was rare. His mind was still turning over what she had said, and he was slowly realizing she was right, he hadn’t respected her wishes. Letting her wound him again would just insult her, he decided, and fighting half-heartedly would be an even larger disrespect.

”Very well!” he boomed, parrying another attack. ”I have wronged you, Miss Sroka, and for that, I can only apologize!”

She grit her teeth, spinning into another attack, her freehand tucked low near her waist, eyes narrowed. The Chiss was competent but only his speed seemed to be keeping him from being skewered. As she saw the bilari move to deflect her attack again, she pushed out with her empty palm. The burst of energy she directed at him forced him back a step, stumbling and allowing her saber to slip past his guard. The yellow blade burned through the man’s formal jacket, a scent of scorched fabric and just a hint of roasted flesh filling the air.

Strong grunted and fell back a step, chuckling painfully, “Well played, Tali,” he said, reaching up to touch the burn through his coat. “Creative.”

He gathered up the fabric with one hand and tore the jacket away, exposing his upper body to the sunlight, a new mark across it from where she’d struck. The water that had soaked through glistened across his muscles in the midday sunshine.

“I will show you the respect you deserve,” he said, cracking his neck and lifting his sword in a two-handed grip.

“You shouldt have shown that the moment ve met,” the Twi’lek spat back, doing her best to ignore the fact she was staring at the cobalt blue topography of the Chiss’ bulging pectorals.

“Ahem, miss Sroka?” Strong inquired with a cough of significance. “My eyes are up here!”

As her eyes darted up to meet his, the chill warning already ran down her spine. Throwing herself upon her instincts, she twisted backwards, knees bending and back arching as the bilari swiped above her with a crackle of electricity. The impromptu limbo display left her precariously out of balance, however, and the Chiss pressed his advantage recklessly. The Twi’lek would have none of it.

With a surge of Force drawn energy coursing through her, Tali twisted her body like a corkscrew, sending an armored boot heel into the side of the charging man’s face as she flipped back onto her feet and broke the engagement. Strong grunted as the plastoid kissed his blue cheek, drawing spittle from his mouth which he wiped with the back of his hand while taking new measure of his foe. He’d known she was a dancer—to put it politely—but it seemed her trials at motherhood had not dulled her athletic abilities.

“Most impressive,” he grunted, rolling his shoulders under the midday glare. “I doubt I could restrain you, even if I had half a heart for it.”

Tali panted lightly after the sudden exertion, trying to center herself for the next bout and keeping her mind focused. The flexing mountain of quivering muscle did make that slightly more difficult than she would have cared to admit. Tearing her eyes away to instead pick out the details of her environment, she took note of the slabs which formed a walkway to the fountain, and especially one which appeared more crooked than its brethren. Squaring her stance, she dropped her saber low as her eyes narrowed like a nexu’s before the kill.

“I thought I toldt you not to fight half-heartedly!” she snapped, bursting forward at blinding speed and kicking off the crooked slab towards the towering Chiss.

Strong raised his arms high, pointing the tip of his bilari down in a low guard as his opponent closed the distance between them. His feet planted to absorb the first blow without reeling, he kept his eyes on the glowing plasma blade rather than the purple Twi’lek they were so instinctively drawn to.

The predictable shift of the lightsaber flashed before him, switching from a horizontal slice to an upward cut at the last instant, and even with his preparation the Chiss was hard-pressed to react in time. The blades of their weapons met, tips kissing in a violent hiss of unstable energy, as the lightsaber ran across the hastily realigning bilari towards the Chiss’ exposed hands. He saw the danger and shifted his bulk with incredible speed, melting his stoic defence into fluid compliance as he allowed the Twi’lek to pass and flicking the plasma blade over his head just before it sliced his fingers.

“A commendable attack,” Strong nodded as he steadied his grip for a second strike, but to his confusion the Twi’lek stood still, hand out-stretched and brow furrowed. His own creased in turn, expecting to have been thrown back already and wondering whether Tali had run out of stamina so quickly. Then she closed her hand and yanked it back with a sharp tug.

”Uuuugh!” Strong grunted as the stone slab slammed flat into his back, shattering against his tensed musculature with enough force to send him stumbling, his grip on the bilari slipping. His guard broken, the Twi’lek surged in for the kill, lightsaber humming as it descended from overhead.

The injured giant reared his head, staring at the descending golden blade and already feeling its sharp burn in his flesh. It would not be the first time he tasted its sting. And it would not be the second either.

Turning awkward defence to offence, he dashed to meet her head on. Hands freed of weapons, he shot his right arm up towards the shocked Twi’lek’s saber, snatching a hold of her wrist. She groaned in frustration and sent a knee into his gut, drawing a muted grunt as he replied in kind with an elbow to her armored midriff.

The impact was hard, harder perhaps than he’d intended, as the Twi’lek twisted free of his grasp and tumbled sideways along the grass, lekku flopping. When she came a rest, her saber lost somewhere among the greenery, she slowly pushed herself up on hands and knees, clutching her side and wheezing for air.

“Y-you hit me...” she muttered, spitting a blob of bloody phlegm from her mouth.

The sight of the injured Twi’lek made his shoulders sag, his adrenaline fueled focus shattered by the meek tone of her wavering voice. The pang of guilt in his chest wrenched his heart as the Chiss felt his bloodied hands tremble at what he’d just done. Such a dishonorable act.

“I... I am sorry beyond words, miss Sroka, I...” he struggled for words, staggering towards her while fumbling for the medpac at his belt.

“Don’t be,” she replied, turning towards him with a sharp grin. “I thought I toldt you, don’t holdt back.”

The rollercoaster of emotions was brought to a heart dropping crescendo as Tali reached out towards the rolled-up cloak she’d left at the courtyard edge. The saber-glaive careened through the air into her hand where its dual blades hissed to life in a brilliant shimmer of golden plasma. The Chiss, disarmed save for colorful bandages and a bottle of painkillers, realized he’d been had.

“Well played,” he admitted.

“I don’t needt your approval,” she hissed in reply. “I don’t needt anything from you!”

“Then why do you entertain me?”

The question was innocently asked, and that innocence struck a chord through the vengeful Twi’lek’s guard. Her face twisted in visible confusion as she had no sharp retort or searing barb to offer. Why did she continue seeing him? Unless…

“Do you wish to find out?” he offered, extending a hand.

She looked up at him, almost as confused as he’d been, and nodded gingerly. He smiled in tune to the crackle of a riot baton going live in his other hand. “Then we’ll do so, together.” He raised the weapon to his side and spunt it around once to test its reach.

Tali smirked and mirrored him with a flourish, the saber-glaive cleaving a brilliant yellow path around her as it hummed through the air.

“Together,” she agreed.

Red and golden eyes locked above matching grins, though both Arconans settled into fighting stances once more, slowly circling. The sound of the fountain bubbling off to the side was offset by the quiet crackle of Strong’s baton and Tali’s glaive humming. The Chiss was moving slower, his upper body feeling stiff after the solid strike to his back. Which was just as well when Tali stepped in, her weapon twisting to stab forward...only for the baton to spin, the tip knocking aside the plasma blade with shocking ease.

”I fear this may no longer be fair,” admitted the General, looking apologetic. ”My prowess with the bilari is not what it should be, yet. Blades are not so well received on Csilla, but training in the basics,” he hefted the baton, ”clubs and the like, well...the Garmis line has long been masters of weighty, bludgeoning tools!”

She glanced him up and down, biting back a remark, her purple cheeks darkening at the completely unintentional hinting. Instead, her lips thinned, as did her gaze.

“You think I cannot standt up to you now?” she spat, her tone just almost turning playful despite her effort to keep a straight face. The Force fueled her as she attacked once more, this time much quicker. She could feel sweat running down her back; she had been tapping into her ability a lot during this...she wasn’t certain if she would even call this a battle anymore. It had started with anger, now it just felt like some kind of sparring. Or...she tried to shake the thought away as her blow was parried again, albeit with a grunt of exertion from the big man.

Like a dance, finished the unbidden thought. I needt to focus! I needt to— the mental train was cut off as Strong counter attacked, his baton buzzing past her lekku. She dodged back, now on the defensive as the riot weapon spun back, before extending once more on a downward swing. She moved out of the path of the shock baton with practiced ease, pivoting on the ball of one foot and using the other for leverage as she brought her glaive to bear. The strike just missed, leaving a dark line on the man’s side.

Strong raised an eyebrow and brought the baton back, trying to push the pain from his thoughts. He was having too much fun to worry about a few scratches...or possible bruised ribs from her earlier assault with the stone. He stepped in, weapon trailing behind as his free hand reached out, tempting fate. He didn’t think she would take his hand off with the glaive, but he hadn’t thought she’d actually stab him several months prior, either.

She didn’t, instead jumping back out of his reach, nearly overbalancing when the back of her knees hit the edge of the fountain.

I do not needt a bath right now, she thought, gritting her teeth and fighting to stay upright. Vell, perhaps I do. But first…

Her thoughts returned to the idea of the dance, recalling several past encounters with her...with the Chiss on the dancefloor. The recent night at the bar, a gala not long after the Lyra incident...she narrowed her eyes and cast a gaze at his feet.

He is right handedt, she thought, aware of how he’d held both the bilari and now the baton, mind racing as he approached, But leadts vith his left vhen dancing…

Sure enough, with her attention on his stance, she saw him step forward and plant his left foot before pulling his arm back to swing. His baton was spun backward again, hoping she was certain to add some surprise to his angle of attack when it was deployed. She stepped into it, seeing his eyes widen in alarm as her glaive dropped from her grip to the grass below, her body moving to her right. With all the power she could muster, from both the Force and her own athletic form, she slammed her hip against the inside of his left leg and grabbed his right forearm. She pivoted, gritting her teeth and growling in exertion, turning and pulling on his arm, using the momentum of his attack to help leverage him.

“Oh, not aga—” she heard him start to say before the mighty splash, water flying into the air and, blissfully, helping cool her head a bit.

Strong sputtered as he managed to roll himself over in the fountain, pulling himself back over the edge and onto the grass, panting. He blinked as the sun was blotted out by a lovely looking Twi’lek holding a saber glaive, though her pointing it at his throat was somewhat discouraging.

“An excellent throw,” he managed, giving her a damp grin.

“So, I have your respect, Mister Garmis?” she asked, her gaze steady.

”My dear Miss Sroka, you have always had it! I am sorry that I offended you, it was never my intent. Perhaps we can discuss it further, with less violence I suppose, over a bit of food? All of this sparring has me ravenous! I have heard that down in the Sinchi Ring there is a delightful food speeder doing something called….tacos? I am uncertain what they are, but everyone is raving over them.”

“You...you vant to take me out to lunch now!? After last time!?” she asked, incredulity clear on her face.

Strong’s cheeks darkened in embarrassment, ”Well of course! This was quite an enjoyable way to work the blood back up after a boring meeting, and well, actually,” he shifted, making a show of patting the pockets of his dress uniform, now covered in grass stains. “It...would seem I left my wallet in my other trousers, so perhaps, if you wished, you could, ahem, treat me?”

She stared, mouth moving but no words coming out.

“After all,” he continued, giving her a smile, “cou— ahem, friends, often go back and forth on such things as this.”

“And you couldn’t suggest this before ve fought!?” she shouted, her lekku twitching in frustration.

“And miss out on such a rousing fight? Never!” he finished with his own shout, grinning up at her.

The hum and crackle of their weapons was the only sound disturbing the serenity of the courtyard as the two opponents sized each other up with new eyes.

“You do not need me,” Strong agreed, circling back to her earlier words while carefully picking his way around her defences. “But you still see me. Then you must want it.”

“I do not vant you,” Tali replied, the tip of her saber-glaive trimming the grass as she shifted in response.

He recognized his disadvantage in reach, something he rarely had to contend with in melee, and proceeded to poke and prod her defences. A step closer, and her weapon twitched, her stance squared. Another, and her forearms tensed for action. A step back, she did not follow, or relent. She was firmly on the defensive.

“Not me, perhaps. But you do enjoy the companionship, do you not?” he continued, launching a conservative swipe at her midriff, the riot baton crackling with tongues of lightning.

“Perhaps,” Tali replied tersely, the tip of her weapon rising like a swan to bat aside his weapon and force him back. He duly did so, slinking back as she rebuffed his advances, only to find renewed purchase for his feet and launching a blistering counter of his own.

The Twi’lek danced aside of the charging bull, their weapons meeting in a flash of plasma discharge, but it was clear who’d yielded this time.

“Miss Sroka, I expected better. Some honesty. Tell me I have earned at least as much?” Strong pressed as he swiveled around the baton in his hand. She might have reach, but up close, he still held the advantage.

“Very vell,” she sighed. “I do enjoy the company,” she admitted.

“Good,” he smiled. A first victory.

Tali sensed his smugness and didn’t like it. He felt confident, and she would have none of it. The Force flowed through her as one moment she held her guard, the next her lavender legs were fleeting across the grass, golden plasma shimmering in the midday sun as she lunged her glaive at his chest.

The baton rose up at the last moment, driving the tip of her weapon aside. His off-hand curling into a fist, and flexing back to a flat palm as he remembered himself, he sent a jab below her guard at her armored waist. Or he would have, had the Twi’lek not mirrored the motion with a thrust of telekinetic energy that sent the Chiss sprawling backwards.

“Vas this the big breakthrough you vere hoping for?” Tali cut dryly, sweeping her weapon around. “Because it’s rather unimpressive.”

“No ma’am, I would not dare to leave a lady unimpressed,” he replied with a confident chuckle, picking himself up with green skidmarks on his blue behind. “Now that we have established you enjoy the company in general, the question becomes: what do you seek of it?”

“Vhat do you mean seek?” Tali pressed, eyes narrowing. “Company is company, I hate to be alone...”

“Not everyone is like that, ma’am Sroka. Some prefer their distance,” he replied, backing away from the advancing Twi’lek.

“Most beings are social creatures, Strong,”

“That they are, Miss Sroka, and you perhaps more than most.”

“So you don’t think I am just lonely?” She swiped at him. He dodged. A follow-up. A parry. She broke the engagement. The scent of ozone lingered.

“I do not think you can be just anything, such a breathtaking woman as yourself,” he panted softly. She had not only reach, but also speed on her side, he’d noticed and reacting to her every strike was leaving him perilously close to being late to the parry. He knew he had to press the attack.

“Spare the flatteries for Lucine, Strong. I’m not here for them,” she stated.

“Yes, of course. Other women might seek companionship for flattery, or vanity, or any number of social boons. But you are different. You are aware of these things, yet you choose to reject them. My every attempt at Garmis chivalry falters before you—”

“Are you trying to make me pity you? It’s not going to vork.” She jabbed at him again, stepping boldly towards him, but he backed away, almost stumbling over the dislodged slab from the footpath.

“—but the moments you seem delighted are the ones I feel flustered, disarmed, wrong-footed.”

She could have pressed her advantage, but paused. “So you say I vant to make a fool of you?”

“No, nothing so pedestrian,” he replied as he recovered. “You… simply prefer when I act on instinct, when my words aren’t so measured.” His voice trailed off as he felt himself reaching for something profound. She did not like that one bit.

A sweeping arc of golden plasma cut through his introspections, the blade of her glaive slamming into his hastily raised baton with enough force to make even the mountain of Chiss quake. He braced his weapon with both arms, and wrestled her back with a shove.

“So vhat if I do? Not everyone in Arcona enjoys playing pretendt,” she panted. That strike had taken much out of her.

“No, of course not. And though you certainly could play it well, you prefer to be honest, genuine...”

“That’s sounding an awful lot like flattery.” She brought her weapon around for another go at breaching his faltering defences.

“I mean it sincerely,” he protested, ducking behind the iridescent glow of his baton in a mockery of his trusty shield. The attack never came, the Twi’lek instead struggling to conceal her amusement at the towering Chiss trying to hide behind such an insufficient barrier.

“Fine, yes. I do enjoy your company most vhen you’re being a bit less… you,” she relaxed her shoulders and gestured at his general being.

It forced a smile upon his lips. “I hope I do not disappoint you then, ma’am Sroka. I hear from many that my person can often be quite much.”

“I don’t mindt the challenge,” she struck back. “As long as there’s something vorthwhile at the endt of it.”

“Something such as…?” The question was loaded to the brim.

“Such as...” she struggled for words. “I don’t know!” she spat, averting her gaze in frustration. “This isn’t getting us, me, anywhere!”

He saw his opening, and took it.

“Begging your pardon, but I must disagree. I believe we are nearing something,” he rumbled, charging recklessly at the distracted Twi’lek. She had no desire for this exchange, deflecting his swipe while giving ground.

“Strong...” she muttered through gritted teeth. Whatever joviality she’d found in the fight had vanished, now forced firmly on her back foot.

“In fact, I feel I must insist. What do you find worthwhile?” The Chiss pressed his attack, unrelenting, unremorseful. He was a tidal wave crashing upon a lone islet, a force of nature as he sought to pin down his elusive prey.

“I’m not…!” Her reply was cut short by a sharp grunt as the shafts of their weapons met. His sheer momentum drove her back, her feet slipping on the grass. She was on her last legs, and not even the Force could hold him back much longer.

He went in for the kill.

“Honesty,” he chided, “You demand it from others, but not yourself? You prefer to live in a lie?”

“Yes!” she cried, strength vanishing from her limbs as she sank to her knees, the saber-glaive slipping amidst the straws.

He was taken aback by the sudden admission. He had not expected his verbal thrust to sink so deep. What should have been the coup de grace never landed.

“Yes, damn you, I prefer to live in a lie!” she spat back, tears streaking down her downcast cheeks. “A lie that I couldt have vhat I lost. Vhat I never hadt. That I couldt be vhole again, for the first time. A person, a companion, an equal. I don’t vant anything from you, Strong.” She looked up, amber eyes reddened by grief. “I vant to be something vith you… Myself.”

He stumbled, her gaze striking through his heart like a blaster bolt and gutting him. He had no words. He had nothing.

So he did the only thing he could, and sank to his knees beside her.

“I just vant… an honest companion by my side. Someone vho sees me for vho I am, not vhat I am. Andt I vant to be accepted as their equal.”

“My lady Sroka, you are far more tha—” he tried, his hoarse voice cracking.

“Equal,” she insisted harshly, even through her tears.

“You are equal to any one of us,” he offered. “And I am honored to be equal to you.” He extended his arms wide.

“Thank you, Strong,” she whispered as she pressed her forehead against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders, carefully embracing her. The moment lingered, and during it he had a realization.

“The noodles,” he murmured.

“Vhat about them?”

“You insisted we split the bill...”

She held her tongue.

“Like equals,” “That was why you were so angry with me, was it not?”

“It soundts silly vhen you say it...” she muttered.

“No,” he insisted in a soft baritone. “I think it sounds just right.”