Not to leave my Ensigns completely out of the Cynna goodness. Here's what I've been working on today, after coming up with an alternate version where he managed to dodge the first swish of her knife.
Cynna planted her feet either side of him. The last minute had been a desperate attempt to dodge the flurry of Cynna's attacks. With no time to speak he'd barely managed to avoid being completely segmented. Now laying on the floor, propped up on his elbow, unable to evade any longer, the kitchen fell silent, and he looked up.
Brian froze. Standing over him, framed by the warm kitchen light, her cinnamon roll crown catching the glow like a halo. In that stillness, he was struck by her. The confidence in her stance. The focus in her eyes. She looked incredible.
In these last few moments, of stillness, finally, he had time, he could say his name.
“I… I’m—”
But nothing came out. His throat locked up. Say it. Say it now!
His mind scrambled, tripping over the moment, tangled between awe and panic.
'Cynna’s looking right at me, she’s gorgeous. No! Focus! Tell her your name! Tell her you’re not a bad foodie! This is it! Do it now, or she’s going to—'
She shifted her weight, the table knife in her hand glinting as she drew it back for the final strike.
“Cynna, I... I’m—”
His voice cracked, breath catching in a useless gasp.
His eyed widened, mouth agape.
Just say it! For the love of—
SHWOOSH!