Peaches!

Esmarë picked up a velvety fruit, inhaled its scent, and smiled.

Home...

Whispers, rippling through the crowd around her—“The Prince of Ithilien!”—brought her back to Minas Tirith, and Esmarë turned to watch his cavalcade pass, curious to see the man these people seemed to hold in such high regard.

He was nothing special.

Shame, she thought. Then their eyes met, and he smiled—a gentle smile that lit his sensitive face with true beauty...

But not the smile of a red-blooded man looking at a lovely young woman.

Oh! Esmarë hurried home to tell the girls.