@strngher echoed: “and why, pray tell, did the local merchant suggest i make my own preserves instead of selling them to me proper as he’s done for the past two days?”Â
It felt as though it’d come from nowhere. But in actuality, it didn’t. Simply put, Geralt had found himself too occupied by everything Yennefer. Her scent, the graceful way she’d been putting on her make up ... the soft touch she’d extended a brush of her fingers over him. Just briefly. Except that touch had been over an hour ago, and he still felt her on him.
Get ahold of yourself, he chastised privately.
“Don’t know,” he supplied, pulling himself from his comfortable chair to finally get some clothes on. If Geralt were to bet anything, it was directly his fault. He’d taken up a few jobs in Wyzima that left some less than impressed. He’d slain a monster that , after already completing the contract, was directly responsible for the merchant’s thriving business with his preserves. Had he known, well .... he would have taken a blow to his funds instead.
But punishing Yenn for his mistakes wasn’t fair.
“It’s likely my fault. I killed a local menace that actually made the man’s business better. Sounded like it kept some local wildlife away from the crops...” The regret couldn’t have been more clear.