"Where?" Daphne asked suspiciously. "Because there are no festivals for us to tour nor snow to have snowball fights in." She folded her arms across her chest. "Besides, you will definitely have to work a lot harder than a bouquet of flowers and some sweet words."
She couldn't even tell if Atticus properly understood why she was mad. It seemed like he was trying to sweet talk his way out of things but it wasn't so simple. Not this time.
"Slowly," Atticus promised. "One step at a time, I will earn your trust again." His hand was still stretched out to her, and he gently — no, cautiously — smiled. "May I?"
Daphne eyes his palm, squinting hard at it before she exhaled. In the end, she raised a hand, gently placing it in his hold. Atticus's fingers instantly curled around hers, and immediately after their skins touched, Daphne felt a light — and fairly pleasant — jolt of magic course through her. She was lifted off the bed and flew into Atticus's arms.
