A/N:
Written for Caesar's Palace's third shipping week (Lilt).
Word Count: 140
Bill loves Fleur the same way Bill loves his tea: all the time. But one morning, he hears her singing a song under her breath as she sits in the gentle sun, and he swore the sunflowers in their garden turned towards her to listen better.
The way her tongue curls around 'ou's and her voice thickens at certain vowels and thins at consonants provides a rhythm that he can only identify as the sound of water rolling over pebbles. Her fingers are nimbly involved in knitting some sort of strange contraption (she doesn't believe in knitting spells); he usually can't tell what it is she's making until the third day of her project.
He wonders if she's a good singer, or if she's just a veela, or if he's just in love.