Her jaw set.
Her jaw was going to be permanently set at this rate.
She took her skirt off.
She was in her underwear and her blouse, which stopped at her hips. The blouse was sufficient coverage. This was a thing she told herself as she handed the skirt to him with the specific, direct energy of someone making a transaction.
He took it without looking at her.
Which was, she decided, the most aggravating possible response.
"'You're welcome,'" she said.
"'Thank you,'" he said.
The fish arrived at four.
The fishing line he'd constructed from Nara's hem and a hook fashioned from what appeared to be, impossibly, a natural piece of wire-hard thorn from a tree he'd identified without being asked — the hook was specific, intentional, the right gauge for the reef fish that were visible in the shallows twenty meters from shore.
He'd waded out with it.
