“60 seconds.”
Whispered softly in her ear, the corners of those velvety lips twisted into something foreign - un sourire. She hadn’t smiled like this in years, but there was something magical about that voice, and the primary source, that ignited a fire within. It felt like fresh grass on a fine spring day, mixed with the barely visible raindrops of a passing drizzle, and the aroma of freshly-baked English muffins on the countertop of a cosy countryside cottage. Or the fine vibrations on her guitar strings when strummed, contrasted with the frothy waters when she went white water rafting a few summers ago.
It didn’t matter that the arm around her tiny waist belonged to the only person who knew of her existence, or that there was only one shoulder when she had tears to shed, for she was very, very much in love.
