"Yes," Lucy agrees. She moves closer, a rustle of fabric and physical intent, then laughs, crinkling her nose. "And no."

Her touch smooths itself into his hair. There's a little rumble of amusement, half at him and half at the ease of the action. It soothes her to be capable of gentleness, if not honesty.

"But of course," Lucy teases, voice dropping in its gravity, "your approval is the most important thing."