Page 37 of Alder Woodacre and the Acorns of Affection (Amaranthine Interludes #3)

A hand waved across Kip’s line of sight, bringing him back into the present moment.

“You with us, Woodacre? Or are you having a kip?” asked Nonny.

“Listing, losting, losing,” declared Inti.

Kip scanned the hand of cards he’d been dealt, but he wasn’t sure what game he was supposed to be playing. Either he’d been duped—entirely possible with a monkey at the table—or these crossers had jerry-rigged some kind of battle royale using the decks of several totally unrelated games.

His drink was untouched.

He hadn’t grabbed any snacks.

All he really wanted was to sneak off somewhere with Jiro, maybe steal a few kisses. Even one would be great, especially if he could make it last.

Reinier began to purr.

Nonny snickered, but he also dropped his cards face-up. “Another time, yeah?”

Inti made a shooing motion.

“I … uhh …” Kip managed sheepishly. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

Kip found Jiro sitting up in bed, writing in his journal. “Hey,” he greeted softly. “Where’s Jarrah?”

“Ash and Tami are hosting that sleepover in the hay mow. Kaga and Anan are reenacting an ancient storyteller’s dual. They’ll be at it until sunrise.”

“Oh. Was that tonight?”

“Did you want to join them?”

He slowly shook his head. That wasn’t what he wanted at all.

Jiro set aside his book and sat up straighter, crossing his legs. “Did you have something else in mind?”

Vaguely embarrassed by the things he wasn’t sure how to ask for, Kip lunged for a safe alternative. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Are we sneaking off together?”

Kip brightened. “That sounds good. Yeah.”

Jiro checked the time and shrugged. “All that’s open is Swifty’s.”

“So … ice cream?”

Using more stealth than was strictly necessary, Kip carried Jiro away. Though Jiro said he was willing to hang around if Kip wanted a sandwich, he only ordered an extra-extra-large ice cream with two spoons … to go.

Back outside, he paused on the gas station’s roof to consider their options.

Moving on was a priority, since the pervasive scent of gasoline was less than appealing.

It was overcast, so stargazing was out. And it was too chilly for human comfort, especially with what amounted to a quart of black walnut ice cream on the menu.

“Back home?” he ventured.

“Mmm. We’re sneaking. I think we should hide somewhere.”

Kip considered their options. He didn’t want to go all the way up past Nocking. The hay mow would have been most comfortable, but it was full of crossers. On impulse, he headed homeward, this time using absolutely necessary stealth. Because he really, really wanted Jiro all to himself.

They came to rest on one of the many platforms hidden amidst Biddie’s branches. This one had a storage bench built in. The whole thing was barely big enough for two adults, but he’d wanted to be close. They’d make it work.

“Gonna ward against the sibs,” he whispered against Jiro’s ear. The last thing he needed was Bush horning in, hoping for a treat. So he pulled sigils out of thin air and layered illusions and wards with enough delicacy that nobody would notice where they were. Not even Biddie.

“Alder …?”

Kip glanced over his shoulder and found a spoonful of ice cream poised before his mouth.

Jiro quietly asked, “Does this count as hand-feeding? Or does the spoon cancel it out?”

“Not sure.” Kip claimed the bite and rolled his eyes. “I know I’m squirrel clan, and nuts are probably a little too on the nose, but man, this is bliss-worthy stuff.”

Pocketing the spoon, Jiro dug a couple of fingers into the ice cream, securing a messy mouthful, which he maneuvered past Kip’s dropped jaw.

“Mrrm. Mmm?”

“Don’t waste any,” ordered Jiro, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Kip got every bit of it before asking, “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t you say that this is squirrel courting behavior?”

“Well, yeah.”

Jiro’s fingers were back with another bite. “Feels like flirting.”

Kip was a little embarrassed by the noise that dragged out of him, but Jiro radiated satisfaction.

Stealing a quick kiss, Kip rummaged in the storage bench for blankets.

He’d warded against wind, but his instincts were clamoring for an even cozier nest. He pulled Jiro down onto his lap, wrapping blankets around them both.

Without any light to see by, Jiro’s aim with the ice cream got sloppy.

Kip fed him, too. Between kisses that beget more kissing.

He was riled up and getting greedier when Joe slowed things down.

“Alder?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I ask a personal question? About your being Kith-kin?”

Kip guessed it was inevitable. There were differences that would need to be addressed. “Yeah, of course. You can ask anything.”

“Do you have a first name?”

He missed a beat. “You call me Alder all the time.”

“I mean the name you were first called. Your … your birth name? Your Kith name.”

“Ohhh. Well, yeah. Of course I do.”

Jiro’s tone turned shy. “Does Ash know it?”

“Uhh, nope. At least, he’s never heard it from me.” He set aside their ice cream as he explained, “We didn’t start hanging out until after I found speaking form.”

“Who all knows?” Jiro stole his hair tie, which was wildly distracting and led to more embarrassing sounds. Eventually, he repeated, “Who knows?”

“Just my family.” Kip couldn’t decide if he was relieved or frustrated that this is what Jiro wanted to know. “You’re curious, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. You seem embarrassed about it.”

“A little, yeah. It’s a baby name. And it’s really cutesy.”

“Does your name rhyme with Push and Bush?”

“Nooope. Mom must’ve decided to single me out. I was the runt of the litter. Tiny but tenacious.”

“Teach me your name, Alder.”

Kip nuzzled Jiro’s cheek, kissed his ear lobe, and confessed a secret that was personal enough to forge another bond between them. “My first name was Snug.”