"Very lovely indeed," Quigley said.
Long ago, when I was a boy, and my siblings and I would play jacks and fence with my grandfather's swords to pass the time, I had just recently been abducted by my ankles and driven away to the Mortmain Mountains myself in my own personal cliffhanger, I was dropped off in the icy wilderness and had to wait 9 hours for entry into the once beautiful establishment that served as VFD headquarters, and during this 9 hours I had no company whatsoever, and certainly no company to tell me that the view I provided to said company was lovely. Nonetheless, a word which here means "even so", my cheeks were red by the time the Vernacularly Fastened Door was opened and I was ushered inside to a steaming mug of cocoa and my first ever eavesdropping lesson.
Many years later, as Violet Baudelaire and Quigley Quagmire sat on the icy ledge atop the Mortmain Mountains, Violet's cheeks were red as well, though for vastly different reasons.
"I beg your pardon?" Violet said to her friend. Quigley looked straight ahead once more, his own cheeks red, though I am less confident as to the cause of his reddened visage, as my research into the Quagmire triplets is not as extensive as my Baudelaire research. Quigley reached into his backpack and pulled out a jar of apple butter and looked down at his hands as he told Violet, "I snuck this out of headquarters for us to dip our salted almonds in. I always loved apple butter."
"What did you mean by calling the view lovely, Quigley?" Violet asked again with a gentle forcefulness. Quigley's hands trembled upon the jar of apple butter, and Violet took the jar out of his hands and placed it next to them on the ledge before taking his hands in her own. "Quigley, I'm not sure if your hands are trembling because they're very cold, or because you're quite nervous being around me right now."
""I'm not nervous, I'm anxious," Quigley said. "And I should have known that the famous Violet Baudelaire would not let a question go by unanswered. I think you look quite lovely, Violet, and I do hope it's not too forward of me to say such a thing. I noticed you are blushing, which I myself and not sure of the cause, if it's the cold or the situation, which seems to be a risky one-"
Violet put her finger on Quigley's mouth and said "shush. I'm happy you survived the fire, and I'm happy we are climbing a ledge to rescue my baby sister, and I'm happy we are able to share this moment of privacy."
Quigley raised his eyes to Violet's, and smiled for the first time in a number of months, if my research is correct.
Violet Baudelaire was an inventor, just as I am a writer, and an associate and fellow volunteer of mine, Casey, is an accountant, just as another associate and fellow volunteer of mine, Jacquelyn, is a welter-weight boxer, and just as my beloved Beatrice was a baticeer and a poet. However, unlike poets and baticeers and welter-weight boxers, inventing things is not normally a habit the general population equates to the traits of a soon to be 15 year old girl. This never particularly bothered Violet, as she always seemed to have just as much in common with boys as she did girls, and disliked being labeled as particularly 'girly' anyway. However, on this moment, on this ledge, and with this friend of hers, Violet felt as if any normal soon to be 15 year old girl would. She felt excited to share her first kiss with her friend Quigley Quagmire.
Violet, who has never conformed to the roles of what people such as Count Olaf would call "girliness", leaned forward and gently kissed Quigley on the mouth. After a sharp intake of breath that told Violet he was anxious and not nervous, Quigley returned the kiss with enthusiasm.
Quigley opened his eyes, and his smile was as broad as ever. "Thank you Violet, for giving me my first kiss."
Violet kissed him again, and said "Thank you Quigley, for giving me my first two kisses."