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Hilda told herself she was prepared this time.
She really was.
She squared her shoulders, leaned in with purpose, and kissed Goopy like she meant it.
Goopy made a pleased little sound—not loud, just a quiet hum of approval—and it went straight through her like static. She startled, lips parting on instinct.
“Ah,” he murmured against her mouth, unmistakably delighted. “Permission granted.”
Her brain promptly short-circuited. “What—?”
But he was already there, one hand settling lightly at her waist, the other warm and steady at her back. He kissed her again, slower this time, tilting his head just so.
Hilda inhaled sharply and pulled back, flustered. “Wait—just—don’t laugh.”
“I would never,” Goopy said solemnly. A beat. “Out loud.”
She swatted his arm, and that broke the tension just enough. When she leaned in again, their kiss was brief and soft—more of a careful hello than anything else. She pulled back immediately, eyes wide.
“…Was that right?”
Goopy beamed. “Très charming. But if we are advancing to the French level—” He raised his eyebrows. “Think of it less like an attack and more like… a conversation.”
“A conversation,” she echoed faintly.
“Yes. With lips.”
Before she could overthink it, his fingers brushed her chin, gentle but confident, tipping her face up. He moved slowly—painfully slowly—giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
When their lips finally met, it was soft. Almost shy. Hilda’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart doing loop-de-loops like a badly piloted plane.
She froze for half a second.
“Relax,” he murmured against her mouth. “You are doing beautifully.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and kissed him back—tentative at first, then a little braver. His thumb brushed along her jaw slowly, before he kissed her again—deeper this time. His lips parted just a little, inviting.
Hilda hesitated, then mimicked him, heart pounding as their mouths moved together. When his tongue lightly touched hers, she made a startled sound.
“That—was that the French part?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said proudly. “Advanced technique.”
She laughed, breathless, and kissed him again—this time leaning in instead of pulling away. Less thinking. More feeling. The kiss warmed, grew more confident, a little messier, until she finally pulled back, dizzy and glowing.
“…Wow,” she said.
Goopy beamed. “You learn very fast.”
Her shoulders relaxed after that. She stopped counting seconds, stopped bracing herself. When he kissed her again, it lingered—playful, coaxing.
Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, her lips pressed back into his, her arms wrapping around him.
Goopy laughed softly into the kiss, utterly charmed.
“There,” he murmured. “You see? Natural talent.”
She pulled back just enough to glare at him. “You planned that.”
“Perhaps,” he said innocently. “But you are the one who leaned in.”
She kissed him again before he could finish—quick, impulsive, meant to shut him up.
It didn’t.
He laughed softly into the kiss and returned it with interest, tilting his head, deepening it just enough to steal her breath. His hand stayed firm at her waist, anchoring her, and when she made a quiet, surprised sound, he pulled back half an inch.
She was flushed now, eyes a little unfocused. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Possibly,” he admitted. “But you are the one kissing me back.”
“And you can’t just—do that,” she said weakly.
“Do what?”
She gestured between them. “The voice. The confidence.”
“Ah.” His smile turned smug. “You noticed.”
She groaned and covered her face. “Don’t say it.”
“I will say nothing,” he promised immediately.
A beat.
“…Except that I am an excellent teacher.”
She peeked at him through her fingers, an amused smile on her lips.
“Lesson’s not over.”
Goopy’s grin widened.
“Magnifique.”