Diar looks at you seriously. "Osberht, what are you saying?"
You swallow hard. Best to spit it out. "Diar, you're more than a friend to me. Or rather, I'd like for us to be more than friends."
She stops your speech with a kiss, which is a fine way to bring the curtain down on that particular scene.
You follow Diar up to her room, a simple one with a straw mattress on a rough-hewn bedstead and a single trestle table to serve as dressing table and desk.
The two of you sit down on the bed, the tension between you making you aware of every point where your knees or elbows touch, and of the moment when Diar's hand brushes yours. You've been alone together many times before but not like this.