Cara bit her lip and smiled when she felt Gregory’s hand slide over hers. It was a simple, sweet gesture, but it made her heart pound.  The salad was forgotten, and she could barely hear what he was saying.  All of her thoughts focused on the heavy warmth of his hand on top of her own.  She nodded absently at him, completely oblivious to what it was she was agreeing to.<br/><br/>The blissful spell was broken when Gregory moved to pay their check and get up from the table.  Once again he offered his arm, and Cara was glad to take it as he led them out onto the street.  She was thoroughly enjoying their walk back through the village when Gregory mentioned his father, or more specifically, his father’s occupation and apparent nickname.  She stopped short, her mouth hanging open in disbelief.<br/><br/>“Oh, no, you can’t be serious...” She began, looking up at him. “The<em>Butcher?</em>Really, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him. Are you pulling my leg?”  She was shaking her head.  Surely Gregory was joking.  Here she was, walking down the road on a gorgeous day, on the arm of the sweetest, most gentle and thoughtful man she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting... and he’s talking about<em>fighting</em>with people... for<em>fun.</em><br/><br/>Looking up into those grey eyes, she could tell - he wasn’t kidding at all.  Without thinking, Cara slipped into one of her mother’s favorite expressions.“<em>Och! A amaidí!</em>You’re serious?!”