You need more flattery about as much as Hilda needs a new hat.

[ Not including the one he almost flung off the roof. That had been an accident. Totally.

His hand is still tucked in Claude’s, even as they head out of the tavern and down the street. To whatever surprise Claude has planned next. Because they have a direction, but Sylvain can think of half a dozen places in this direction and isn’t sure which one would have tugged on Claude’s devious attentions.

He tries not to get distracted by the warm grip still tangled with his, but he can’t quite hide the small smile either as he falls into step at the other man’s side.

At least until that last statement drags a snicker free from him. ]

And now he implies I’m boring him. Wow, Riegan, maybe we need to work on your flattery skills. You’re clearly rusty.