Patricia

“What?" I said.
He rose, shaking the dew from his cloak. "You have that look."
He had mirrored my own train of thought, which made me scowl at him irrationally. "Which?"
"The one you wear whenever you outsmart me in some area," he said.
"Well," I began with a shrug, then stopped. My magnanimity was wearing thin, I'm afraid. "Haven't I?"
He laughed, a clear, bright sound, and then, before I knew what was happening, he had lifted me from my feet and spun me through the air, the greenery and shadow of the forest a whirl all around me.
"My beloved Emily," he murmured in my ear.
"Yes, yes, all right," I said, though I did not pull away. My smugness was back, together with a warm sort of satisfaction. It was pleasing to see him this happy.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales