[After all they have done that morning, and all they have spoken of, is it any wonder that she feels quite at home in his garden? She has no doubt that he wants her there, after all, and enjoys the way he returns her gaze.
Her smile deepens at his endearment, her favorite perhaps, tied with mi amor, and she too adjusts as his eyes linger on her. Letting her book hang loosely in her grasp, she raises both arms to stretch out, legs rubbing together somewhat as she readjusts her positioning. Perhaps she is on the petite side, but she's confident in her legs and happy to have him admire them.]
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Her smile deepens at his endearment, her favorite perhaps, tied with mi amor, and she too adjusts as his eyes linger on her. Letting her book hang loosely in her grasp, she raises both arms to stretch out, legs rubbing together somewhat as she readjusts her positioning. Perhaps she is on the petite side, but she's confident in her legs and happy to have him admire them.]
Novels or poetry then, cariño?