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Her thumbnail finds her mouth the second the barista brings their order over.
“Lebanne, my dearest, do take that sour look off your face,” Jacinthe chastises. Then, she frowns. “Are you nervous? I picked this cafe hoping that you would feel more at ease.”
Lebanne’s eyes wander to gaze just past Jacinthe’s shoulder. It isn’t really the sort of place she would pick for herself - actually, she’d more than likely just pick up a coffee to go if left to her own devices - but it is indeed lacking the typical bells and whistles of Jacinthe’s favoured haunts. Lebanne supposes she can appreciate that, at least.
Their lattes sit steaming between them.
“My darling,” Jacinthe broaches. “I brought you here to have a little chat about your participation in the SBC.”
Lebanne’s blood cools rapidly in her veins. They’re in public, in neutral ground for both of them - suddenly she feels like a cornered lillipup, ready to lick her wounds afterwards. Under all the maid finery, there’s still a part of her that expects a battle around every corner. A part that still bares its teeth and bites whenever things don’t go her way.
Jacinthe has always seen that part, has always delighted in preserving it whilst keeping it leashed, but perhaps she’s grown tired of her now. Lebanne’s skin prickles, a flame stoking in her throat - but, dutifully, she stays silent.
“You’ve seemed so happy lately. I’m overjoyed,” Jacinthe continues, reaching across the table to take her hand. Lebanne resists the instinct to dig her nails in. “In fact, if you are so obliging, I was rather wondering if you wished to ask me to marry you.”
“Whuh?” Lebanne’s hand falls back to the table with a thunk. “You want me to marry you?”
Jacinthe’s eyes widen and then she laughs into one daintily gloved hand, as if Lebanne’s confusion itself is a novelty to her. “Well, technically I was asking you if you wanted me to marry you - but, well, yes!”
She stares into her coffee cup, then spears her teaspoon through the latte art. Jacinthe has always plotted the course for their relationship; honestly, Lebanne had never given its development as much thought as she is right here and now, always swept along with Jacinthe’s whims.
She supposes she’s never needed to steer them in another direction. Jacinthe is right. She’s been happy.
But does that count as an answer? Is that good enough? Across the table, Jacinthe watches her with soft creases in the corners of her eyes, delicately sipping from her own cup.
“I think…” She can feel her face burning. “I’d like you to ask me one day, yeah.”
Jacinthe squeals and claps her hands. “Oh, my dearest Lebanne!” She reaches across to cup her face in her hands. Half-begrudgingly, Lebanne melts into the touch. “My ever-dutiful maid; my constant companion. Ah, très bon!” She sighs. “I shall start planning forthwith.”
Lebanne picks up her cup, cradling it in her hands before taking a sip. Even after being abandoned since it arrived, it’s still warm.
Jacinthe had ordered for them. The coffee’s sweet, sweeter than she would order for herself. She lets the bitter-sweetness settle on her tongue and realises she wouldn’t want to drink it any other way.