Gideon's blush is absurd, accenting the freckles on her cheeks and adding a new light to the burnt-tea color of her eyes. Even so, the sight of it sinks into Harrow with unexpected warmth. For all that she'd grumbled on the way here, now that it's just them and the quiet of the park, it's not quite as objectionable as she'd thought. She watches her fumble with one of the lids, her long fingers prising it open, and the smallest smile crosses her face.

"Or something," she echoes.