"But a hearth, Berry." Liam turned his head. Looked down at Berry, his unfiltered longing directed entirely at a cooking station.
Berry's mouth opened and closed like a fish. A flush crept up from her collar, spreading across the bridge of her nose like wildfire through dry grass. She'd been mid-argument. She'd had points, good ones. Strategic ones she'd rehearsed in her head twice. But he was looking at her like that, except he wasn't looking at her like that; he was looking through her at a mental image of a portable oven, and somehow that was infinitely worse.
"You…" She swallowed. Straightened her spine. Drew herself up to her full five ten, which still left her staring at his collarbone. The faint smell of woodsmoke and crushed mint clung to him from the last campfire cook. She tried again. "You would get a Level 3 hearth in a few days anyway through guild progression; the soul stone is irreplaceable."
"A few days is a long time without a proper kitchen."
"Liam."
"Mm."
