Separate names with a comma.
"Something like that," she mused. She looked up at him, grinning sunnily. "You're old."
He looked down at her, his forehead almost brushing hers. There was a silence before something hardened in his face and he pulled away gently,...
She gave him a small smile. "80."
He looked down at her, running his fingers through her hair hesitantly. "I don't count. I can't remember it."
She glanced up at him, considering him. “I’m not sure. Maybe... I think you’d be in your 100s...”
He hesitated, but pulled her close to him after a moment. “You’ve been through a lot.”
She laughed a little, but also fell quiet.
He immediately backed off, but placed a hand on her back gently. “I’m sorry.”
She squinted at him. “That’s not true,” she teased, holding his arm tighter. “You’re an old man.”
He frowned, looking down at her. “That doesn’t make sense. What’d he say?”
“I act like a child,” she argued. “I’m childish. Plus, you’re twice my age.”
“I see,” he replied, sighing a little. “Have you talked to Puck?”
Her eyes narrowed in playful skepticism as she considered him, tilting her head. “You don’t think so?”
He laughed, his shoulder brushing hers. “It’s a pretty old tradition. People don’t really talk about it anymore.”
She looked up at him, frowning in surprise. “I thought you wouldn’t. I’m kind of a child.”
“Yeah,” he replied, looking up at her. “Red means love. Yellow means friendship.”
“They’re not exactly history buffs,” she teased. “I doubt they’d know who you are. You don’t like children, though...”
“Huh,” he mused, leaning back. “Kind of like the languages of the flowers.”
“You could work on the farm,” she suggested, looking up at him with a grin. “I could use the help.”
“Like what?” he asked earnestly, looking over at her.
