“Oh, don’t do that, it makes me forget what I want to say! Do you have any idea what you look like!?” She hung her head for a moment. “Mordred, I want — I want a real answer. What do you want of me, since you accepted my ring? I offered it as a joke; I never thought … ” She flourished a hand. “This would happen.” She turned faintly pink. “I liked kissing you,” she added, very low.
Mordred swallowed, his fingers dancing around the edge of the goblet as he thought. He didn’t really know what he wanted, especially from her. “I don’t know, Summer,” he tells her, getting to his feet, leaning over the table, “and I liked kissing you too,” he says, his voice low.
He towered over her when he stood up. Summer fell back a step, not frightened, but so she didn’t have to crane her neck so hard to look up at him. “I don’t know who to be if I don’t know what you want,” she told him.