Our Future

By the time they climbed back up the ridge to the great oak, Eleanor's fingers had not left Ernest's hand.

Every few paces, she caught herself glancing down at the diamond flashing in the sun. Ernest noticed every single time, adjusting his stride to match hers, looking like a man who had successfully commissioned an entire national transit system in an afternoon.

"Is the setting comfortable?" he asked for the fourth time as they reached the horses. "No sharp edges against the webbing of your fingers?"

Eleanor stopped, planting her free hand on her hip. "Baron Teucher, cease performing quality-assurance inspections on my hand."

"I am merely verifying that the jeweler followed the structural tolerances—"

She reached up, took his lapels, and kissed him firmly on the mouth to silence him.

Ernest blinked as she stepped back. "That methodology lacks empirical rigour."