“Sooo.” Guy, brow furrowed, tilts his head. “The creator believes I have played my part in this latest triumph of his?”
“Yes, Sir Guy. He’s said that everything that has come before in his career helped him prepare for this role. Look at your skills on horseback. And with weaponry. Not to mention all that anger–understandable anger, most of the time–all that inner conflict, that intensity. Expressing so much just through your eyes alone at times. Even the extra deepness of your voice.”
Guy’s lips curve into a lop-sided smile. “So–will you be looking for glimpses of me when you do see this–Thorin on the theatre screen?”
She returns his smile and nods. “Of course. I don’t think I ever stop looking for glimpses of you, Sir Guy. Right down to the CReAtor wearing buttery soft black leather. That always reminds me of you, my dearest dark knight.”
Sir Guy leans down and presses a kiss to Ladywriter’s cheek before murmuring in her ear: “It’s good to be your favorite.”
Ladywriter, drinking in Sir Guy’s scent–leather, something spicy and a definite hint of chocolate– gives a soft little sigh. Speaking of chocolate . . . “There are fudgy walnut brownies with white chocolate icing in the kitchen, Sir Guy.”
“I’ll bring back enough for two, shall I?” he rumbles.
“Please do, darling.”