.

Like the Music of Angels

.~*~*~*~.

Word Count: 5,896

Chapter II: How Strange the Taste

June 29, 1831

Sometimes I can scarcely believe how infatuated I am.

Since the day Monsieur Marius Pontmercy climbed the garden gate of Number 5 Rue Plumet and officially entered my life, I have thought of little else but him, and heavens, do I ever feel like such a child for my fantasies! We know each other perfectly well now; I think I know him a little better than he does me, for I still have secrets I've not yet told him. I also don't believe he thinks much of this: indeed, I don't believe he's even noticed how vague I sometimes am with him. He clings to my every word as though it had been made of pure gold; it's quite endearing.

I believe, however, that even my beloved Marius has his secrets. I suppose everyone does, but Marius really does have secrets and he keeps them from me. I have determined this because he tells me that he often attends nightly meetings with some friends of his. I was curious and I've asked him many a time about his friends and what kind of meetings they have, but he's not answered any of my questions. It's strange, don't you find? Ah, well, it's as I said: everyone has their secrets!

I still haven't told Papa, and I don't believe he suspects at all I've been having a secret relationship. It makes me nervous each evening when I head out to the garden: what if he questions me as to why I've been spending so much time outdoors, especially in the evenings? I fear he'll interrogate me each and every time, but he never does. Once or twice he has given me an odd look, but he's never voiced any thoughts yet, so for the moment, at least, I am in the clear. I worry, too, however: whatever shall Marius and I do when the gelid airs of winter come to the city and it is much too cold? Papa will never allow me to spend the evenings sitting outside, and I don't think I'd like to endure the bitter weather besides. Marius and I must work something out. I dread to think what might happen if we begin to lose touch.

He really does consume my every thought. Most of my fantasies are simplistic and typical of a silly schoolgirl, as I've said. I dream of marrying him one day and of our imaginary future children. Once, before Marius, I thought a little about whether I want a boy or a girl; I decided I should like to have a little daughter. Do you suppose Marius likes the name Lucienne?

But not all my fantasies are quite so innocent; many of them are considerably more shocking and scandalous. Extremely unladylike. I'd write them down here, but they're so … well, I just feel far too embarrassed. I try not to enter these fantasies if I can.

I cannot deny my love with him, however, and indeed, I am due to see him tonight, as I do every night. I ought to go outside before Papa tells me it is too late.

.~*~*~*~.

June 30

Cosette could have spent a lifetime dreaming about him. That day was just an ordinary Thursday, but she found herself day-dreaming of her love. She was careful, however, not to let him distract her from her studies. As she did every day, she forced herself to work through the tedium of her assigned numeracy problems, to read from her history textbook to Papa. She sat down at the table and practised her penmanship by copying out passages from Genesis onto a piece of paper. The day seemed to stretch out forever and it didn't seem to want to end.

For the first time since she'd seen Marius in the park, Papa noted on the oddities of her behaviour. He came up behind her, placing his hands on the back of her chair. It made Cosette jump, startled, and he smiled warmly at her. He pulled out the chair next to hers and dropped down onto it, gesturing for her to drop her pen with a gentle inclination of the head. "Cosette, my darling," he said, sounding hesitant. "You're so quiet these days, and it's given me cause to worry for you. Are you quite sure you're alright?"

She squirmed. "Yes, Papa. I really am fine, you mustn't worry. I suppose I'm just a bit distracted." She offered him a practised smile. If only she could tell him! She thought she might burst for the weight of it all. Instead, her father merely nodded and picked up the paper onto which she'd been copying down verses of the Book of Genesis. His eyes scanned her writing; he then set it back down on the table and told her that her handwriting was fine, and that she was free to do what she wanted for the rest of the day. A relieved Cosette stood, kissed her father on the crown of the head, and excused herself to her chambers; she now sat on the edge of her bed, reading but constantly thinking of monsieur Marius.

To be completely frank, Cosette wasn't sure why the two of them still addressed each other with the appropriate prefixes of monsieur and mademoiselle. Naturally she had no idea how he thought of her himself, but she still nearly always called him monsieur even in the privacy of her own mind. It seemed terribly silly, she reflected, for they were clearly far beyond formalities in their relationship. From the very beginning, they'd even referred to each other with the informal title of tu, as if they'd known each other their entire lives.

Like lovers.

On the other hand, much of the nights they spent together were filled with conversation and playful flirtation as opposed to anything in the way of physicality. Each night, they kissed briefly when they said hello and kissed again, just as briefly, when they parted ways. It had been at least a week since they'd shared a long and passionate kiss. More than a week, really.

But all the same, when she stepped outside that Thursday evening and she opened the gate to Marius (by now, she'd taken to using the keys to let him in as opposed to forcing him to climb the fence each night), and gave him the usual quick kiss on the lips; and he said to her, "Mademoiselle Cosette," with an inclination of the head, Cosette cocked her head to one side and answered simply, "Marius."

As usual, she closed the gate behind her and led him to the fence. They sat and talked of all manner of things. Today's dominant topic was books: she'd mentioned to him before, offhandedly, that she was a passionate reader and that her favourite books were the works of Miss Austen. As it turned out, Marius had saved a few sous to purchase copies of Pride and Prejudice and Emma; he'd spent the last fortnight or so reading these tomes and he was now eager to discuss them with her.

For her part, Cosette was just as eager to hear what he had to say, and they spent well over an hour debating the actions of Elizabeth Bennett, Mr Darcy, et cetera.

They had quite forgotten the fact that they were only sitting in her garden with Cosette's father in the house very nearby; so, when she heard Papa calling to her from the parlour window, she nearly jumped a foot in the air, springing up from the bench as she gave a hasty call that she'd be there in just a minute. Very thankfully, her father hadn't looked out the window properly, and it was already dark out besides. After giving Marius a quick kiss, she had to force him to climb the garden gate as she rushed back to the house.

After washing her face, bidding Papa a good night and putting on a nightdress, Cosette reflected that she was extremely luck her father had not looked out the window at that precise moment. It may have been dark, but not quite dark enough that he would not have been able to see two figures sitting in close proximity to one another on the stone bench in the garden, one of whom was his daughter; the other, a stranger but visibly a man.

She'd have to be more careful, she scolded herself in the silence and confines of her bedroom. Perhaps, sometimes, she'd have to stop seeing Marius. Even if it was one random night a week, else she arouse too much suspicion on part of Papa. Or even if the landlord, or the tenant upstairs (a miserable elderly woman who wanted nothing to do with anyone) saw her and told Papa.

No, she'd have to be more careful from now on. Whoever would have thought that being in love was so complicated? Whoever would have thought that one secret could have so much weight and pressure?

Sighing, Cosette rolled over in bed. If she focused on the silence, she could hear the ticking of the mantle clock in the parlour; ticking away the seconds until she could see Marius again.

.~*~*~*~.

July 1

She was not allowed out that evening: Papa suggested that the pair of them go for their daily stroll in the Jardin de Luxembourg a little later that day, for he explained that he had some errands to run during the day. This happened once in a while, usually every other month. Papa went out to attend to private matters and Cosette was never invited. She was not exactly upset, but she was always curious what he did. She'd asked him a number of times, and each time he answered with some vague explanation having to do with the charity business he did at the church each week.

"But, Papa," she wheedled that morning, standing in the parlour. She was still in her nightdress and her blonde hair was uncombed; it was a mere tangled mess down her back. In her hands, she toyed with his top hat, twirling it around between her fingers and absently stroking the dark silken fabric. "If it's your charity work, then why can't I ever come too? It's no great … secret at all, for I help at the church every week! Why is it that I'm never permitted to accompany you, Papa? Oh, couldn't I come just today? Please, Papa?"

He stood by the hat-stand, buttoning his waistcoat. "Cosette, my dear girl, if I recall you have some passages of history to read — and you're not even close to ready besides! I understand if you're lonely sometimes, and you miss me, but these are very private business trips. I do have a job, you know."

"Yes, you have a job," Cosette agreed sceptically. "But then why is it that I'm not allowed to know what it is? I'm no longer a child, Papa, I'm all of sixteen years old and very nearly a grown adult."

"Pass my hat, dear," was his ready response.

Cosette sighed and did so; Papa was impossible when he got like this. There was no breaking through his barrier at all. He pecked her on the cheek, placed his hat upon his greying head, and went out the door. She listened to his footsteps as he headed downstairs a moment, then rushed to the window to watch him go out. She arrived in time to see him cross the garden, pass the stone bench on which she always sat with Marius, and go through the gate which Marius had climbed so many times. As was his wont, he locked it behind him.

With little else to do, Cosette got the pail of water which her father had drawn from the garden well earlier that morning and heated it over the wood stove. As it warmed, she pulled out the washtub and fetched a flannel and a bar of soap. When the water was ready, she dumped it into the tub, stripped off her nightgown and eased into the lukewarm water. It had not been terribly long ago that she'd had permission to handle the wood stove by herself: indeed, it had only been a year or two ago. Of course she'd helped Papa cook many a time, but that was with him in the kitchen and under his supervision. How overprotective he could be sometimes! He truly treated her like a child at times.

Cosette was moping. She knew it was wrong to sulk as so, but at times she could not help herself. Papa was overprotective of her. He kept secrets and he was overprotective. The older she got, the more she understood just how sealed off he was to the world and to her. His very own daughter, if not by blood; but he may as well have been and that was what counted.

She tried instead to think about other matters. Matters other than Papa's oddities and matters other than Marius. To avoid both topics was indeed a challenge. So instead, Cosette focused on merely enjoying the comfort of her bath. She drew her now soaking hair over her shoulder and scrubbed gently at her body with the soap.

Twenty minutes later, she had climbed from the washtub and dried off; now she stood naked before her armoire, trying to settle on a dress to wear. She eventually settled on a favourite dress of hers: a Christmas present from Papa, just a few months old and only worn a few times. It was a lovely gown, a pleasant shade of ivory with lace at the collar and small roses embroidered at the hem. Cosette held the dress in front of herself and twirled around once, only to catch a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror which hung on the wall opposite.

Of course she had seen herself naked many a time, but she thought nothing of it. Now, however, she set down the dress onto her bed and stared at her reflection. Ever since Marius, Cosette had been reconsidering herself, pondering as to how pretty she really was. Another funny way of love was that it changed the way one looked at oneself. She turned from side to side, inspecting her face, her hair, her naked body.

It was not deemed proper for a woman to inspect her body with such liberty, and Cosette suddenly realised it was the first time she'd really allowed herself to do so with this much freedom. She was all of sixteen now, and if she did say so herself, rather pretty. Prettier than she'd thought. Her slim body was made up of gentle curves — her legs, her neck, her torso — and her breasts were larger than she'd realised.

To be able to stand like this, stark naked, before a mirror and just look at herself filled her with an odd, almost exhilarating sensation, and she revelled in the freedom of it. They were her hips, her legs, it was her body; her own body which she could define herself, and it was so delightfully liberating that Cosette found herself quite breathless. She might have stood there for a full minute or two before she quickly turned away, understanding the scandalousness of her behaviour, and quickly she dressed.

But she was still glad she'd allowed herself that morsel of freedom, of exposing her own body, if only to herself.

.~*~*~*~.

July 2, 1831

It's late evening right now, and raining very heavily. I know better than to ask Papa to let me go outside. I wouldn't want to spend a long time in such a heavy rain anyhow. That means that I'll be spending this evening sitting in my bedroom, reading or embroidering. I don't much like embroidery; by that I mean, it's far from a torture, but it's also hardly enjoyable. Reading it is, then! I've read all my books, but I believe I may settle down with some poetry before bed.

Such a funny thing, poetry is. I don't read any of the poems in my collection of anthologies chronologically, but once in a while it's nice to flip through the books I own and read whichever one captivates me. On my shelf, staring me in the face at the moment, is an anthology of collected romantic poems through the centuries. I think I shall read from this book, for it does seem appropriate.

The fact that I am filling the pages of my diary with my thoughts towards what to read this evening just proves my complete boredom, I believe. I am terribly bored, for I yearn to be sitting out in the garden with Marius tonight. Two nights will have passed since I've seen him, and while it's not a terribly long time, it seems to be an eternity.

Papa is in the sitting room right now; he is filling out some papers and he's busy. As far back as I can remember since the days I began living with him, he's hardly ever so busy that he doesn't have time to be with me. Most of his time he's spent with me. I loved this as a child, and I remember sulking whenever he was preoccupied, but I've grown out of that now and much as I love him — he is my own dear Papa and I love him more than I can put to words — I sometimes appreciate the time I have to myself, like now. Then it can be just me and my thoughts.

Moving on.

I was alone in the apartment yesterday. While alone, I did something which would be considered scandalous, but I don't feel at all shamed: quite the opposite in fact, for I actually feel a little proud of myself. This doesn't mean I'm going to tell anyone, of course: my words will never be known outside of my own mind and these pages on which I write. But I still feel a little pride for my behaviour! You see, I stood quite naked before my mirror and I looked at myself for a long time. And this made me think. About love and how it's changed me, how it changes everyone. It has the power to change the way we think and look at ourselves. I thought about why it should be deemed shocking at all for a woman to look at herself in the mirror. I know ladies are forever inspecting their hair and faces in dressing-rooms, and they look at themselves in pretty dresses, et cetera, so why is it wrong to extend that to the entire body when naked? After all, my body is just as much a part of me as my face is.

I believe it's because I am a woman, and as a woman I don't have much in the way of rights. When I say this, I'm not referring to Papa or Marius, for both of them are good and loving people, but I speak of society as a whole, I suppose. Why wom —

It was at this moment that Cosette stopped writing, for a strange sound outside gave her cause to jump, drop her pen, rise to her feet and approach her bedroom window, nearly knocking over her inkwell in the process. She brushed aside her curtains and looked out. For the darkness and the constant rain she couldn't see anything, but quite suddenly, the mysterious sound came again. This time she discovered its source: someone had thrown a small stone against her windowpane with the aim of an expert.

Cosette squinted, and this time, and to her great surprise, she spied Marius. Although it was wet, he'd climbed her gate and was now half-hidden behind a tree, looking up at her bedroom window. He must have fine eyesight, she reasoned, for now he realised she'd caught sight of him and he waved. Her own eyes were now adjusting a little better to the darkness outside. The poor boy was soaked to the bone; she could tell by the way his clothes clung to his body. Cosette couldn't help it, she giggled and waved back. He must have seen the light of the oil-lamp in her bedroom window. But really, to think that he'd come to see her tonight, undeterred by the rain! He really was sweet, and she loved him for it.

For a moment, she feared he was going to attempt to shimmy up the rain-pipe running down the side of the house and enter her apartment via her window, but he didn't. Instead, he remained by the three, and he was staring at her. Cosette stared back, and that was how they spent the next hour. Him standing out in the rain (she worried he'd catch his death, but Marius didn't seem to care) and her sitting by the window, the two of them merely staring, entranced by the spell that love had cast upon the both of them.

.~*~*~*~.

July 23

To say that Papa gave Cosette no freedom whatsoever was to be selfish. With typical teenage rebelliousness, the girl often felt this way, but she always forgot that her father granted her quite a lot of freedom, in fact. He may have been overprotective, but he allowed his daughter permission to shop at the market by herself every once in a while. He would give her some money, a basket, and a list of the shopping that needed to be done, then (somewhat reluctantly) send her off on her way. There was an excellent market near the Notre Dame, and yesterday morning Papa had asked her to go there, as it was a Saturday.

Cosette, for her part, had tried not to display how ecstatic she was. But truthfully, she'd been utterly delighted. She was in a very good mood for the rest of the day: to add to the feeling, she'd just finished with her woman's monthly bleeding the day before, leaving her feeling lighter, fresher. She'd agreed cheerily enough, and had been lucky enough to be able to see her Marius the night before. She'd given him the good news as they sat together on the stone bench, and they'd resolved to meet at half past noon in front of the neighbourhood bakery.

Now, the wicker basket dangling from the crook of her elbow, Cosette strolled down Rue Plumet, humming a merry tune to herself. She was wearing her best blue dress and matching bonnet; she'd run the brush through her blonde locks well over a hundred times. Her heart thrummed excitedly in her chest, for today she was being given the opportunity to spend an entire day with her beloved! She'd worried he might be bored by the tedium of shopping at the market, and had expressed this last night when she'd offered her invitation, but Marius had responded with heart-warming sincerity that so long as he could spend the time with her, nothing could bore him at all.

As he'd promised, Marius was seated on the stoop in front of the bakery, and when he saw her, he leapt to his feet, sprinted the few short metres between them. His arms wrapped round her slight waist as he picked her up off her feet and spun her in a circle. Many circles, in fact. Round and round he spun her, and Cosette tipped back her head and laughed openly; she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him just as he set her down gently. The entire thing played out like a beautifully synchronised dance, and it tasted of his lips and her scarcely suppressed giggles and love. This kiss lasted longer than any previous one between the pair of them had, and it bubbled with more passion than ever before.

When they eventually pulled away, they found themselves giggling like a pair of idiots before Cosette recovered first and bid him hello; after a heartbeat or two he returned the more formal greeting, and they linked arms. "Do you know the way to the Notre Dame cathedral?" Marius presently inquired, and she smiled.

"I do, but it's an awfully long way. An hour's walk! I should think you'd prefer to hail down a hansom cab. You needn't worry, Papa gave me plenty of money, enough to pay for a carriage ride both ways, to purchase all the necessary goods, and even for a small treat. Perhaps you'd like to share that treat with me … monsieur?" She said the words playfully and teasingly, for they had officially long since abandoned the formal prefixes when addressing each other. This was a bit of flirtation on her part, and she loved flirting with him for it made her double over in giggles when she saw the way this action on her part made him go pink; made him stumble over his words.

So they hailed down a hansom cab. The young couple spent the ride sitting side-by-side on the seat in the carriage, knees touching; Cosette rested her head against Marius' shoulder and pressed in close, enjoying the feel of him. Both of them could sense that every so often, the driver would turn to look at them with a sceptical raise of the eyebrow, and this very nearly set them into a fit of laughter each time. How very much like children they became in each other's presence! Later Cosette would have to confess to herself that she felt a little silly for her behaviour, sometimes, but for now, she was happy to enjoy the light and liberating feeling of being in love.

When they arrived at the Notre Dame and Cosette had paid the driver the requested fare, she and Marius stepped out of the carriage. (In fact, he stepped out first and offered his hand, which made her feel like a rich lady from the romantic novels she so dearly treasured). From here, they found themselves standing arm-in-arm, wicker basket still hanging from the crook of Cosette's elbow, before the great and ancient cathedral. Just round the corner, the cobbled Parisian streets were properly packed with people varying in social class tending to their shopping, selecting the best items from the neat rows of stalls, but for now, Marius and Cosette were busy being breathtaken by the Notre Dame. Of course, they had each seen the cathedral many a time, being inhabitants of Paris, but never before had the cathedral had such presence.

"You know," Marius said softly, "It's hundreds and hundreds of years old."

"Why, of course I know that!"

Time is immeasurable when one is in love, thus, it was impossible to tell how long they stood there. But a woman pushing a wheelbarrow full of vegetables shouting out to them, "Out of the way now, lovelies!" snapped them both from their shared reverie. They headed towards the market, and as they tended to the shopping (Marius, too, purchased some food items for himself), they talked.

"So, shall you be taking a hansom cab home from here? Oh, do, Marius; for you've told me that you live on the very outskirts of Paris and we're presently at the heart of the city centre. I don't want you walking all that way," Cosette was saying to him towards the end of the shopping trip.

"I suppose I will," Marius answered. "Just this once, but only because I'll be weighed down with my shopping things. As I've told you, I don't have a great deal in the way of money."

Cosette leaned over a fruit vendor's stall and she picked up an apple to inspect it. She turned the fruit over in her hand, examining its fragile red skin for imperfections. "What a strange rich gentleman you are. You know, I believe that's part of the reason I love you as I do: you're a good person; you're not like most members of the elite. It's attractive." She tossed the apple a foot in the air and caught it, decided it a fine piece of fruit, and handed the vendor a sou. Placed the apple in her basket. Carried on. "And your neighbours, are they good people?"

A pause came before Marius answered her. "There is only one other occupied flat in the tenement where I live; the tenant in question is a man, his wife, and two daughters. The man and his wife I don't at all like, he's an alcoholic and often turns his fists and angry words on his wife and children — mostly his children, as his wife is much the same. But his daughters are good and about your age, Cosette."

She had been digging through a crate of oranges, for many of the fruits had begun to spoil and she wanted to find a fresh one, but now she looked up at him. "Friends of yours, are they?" There was no accusation in her tone, only friendly curiosity, and Marius did not take her words as such.

"The eldest girl is. The youngest I don't know as well; she's so small and meek and it's clear she downright fears her parents, but the elder is caring and I've known her — "

"Mademoiselle Cosette! And Marius!" A sudden, high-pitched, childish cry interrupted him and caught the attention of both Marius and Cosette. They turned to see a small, ill-dressed boy on the other side of the street; a mere nine or ten years of age with shaggy blond hair to his tiny shoulders: a street urchin by the name of Gavroche whom Cosette knew rather well, for he came to receive bread and soup each week without fail at the church when she and Papa did their charity work. It surprised her that he seemed to know Marius as well.

She gaped at him a moment, and so did Marius. Gavroche darted across the street, narrowly avoiding being run over by a man with a wheelbarrow, and joined them before the fruit stall. His little face, though grimy, was bright with excitement, as was his wont. "Marius, I ain't seen you at all in two months! How come you haven't been coming to the meetings? Enjy's really cross with you, I'll have you know; how've you avoided seeing him at the university?" All this the child said in one breath, and after pausing to take in a quick breath of air, he rambled on, "How do you know mademoiselle Cosette?"

Marius shook his head, looking over at Cosette, the puzzlement clear on his freckled face, and Cosette managed to find her voice. "Well, you see, Gavroche — "

He interrupted her, his voice taking on a teasing crow. "Has mademoiselle got a gentleman friend?"

"Gav!" Marius snapped. "Yes, she has, and I don't like that tone."

His blue eyes rolled. "Oh, do come off it, now, Marius … "

Cosette cut in sharply. "Tomorrow is a Sunday, Gavroche, and I trust you'll be at the church." When he nodded, she carried on: "You must not breathe a word of this to my Papa, do you understand? Not a word. If you do … " She gave him such a stern look, he nodded again in understanding, and turned back to Marius, apparently already bored with the topic.

"So, Pontmercy," he said lightly, and it amused Cosette that the informality of the way the child addressed Marius didn't seem to surprise the young man in the least. However Marius knew Gavroche — though she had gathered that it had something to do with the mysterious meetings — he was clearly accustomed to the boy's childish arrogance. Cosette was certainly used to his sauce, and she found it completely endearing.

"Why haven't you been coming to meetings?" Gavroche was saying, but was sharply cut off by Marius, who took a hold of his small arm.

Through gritted teeth, Marius hissed, "Not now, Gav." After a moment's pause, he let the boy go. Gavroche, ever the cocky little pup, offered a mock military salute, spun on his bare heel, and disappeared down the street.

Once he was gone, Cosette turned to Marius with a small laugh. "My, my, it looks like we share a mutual friend! You know him through those meetings of yours, then?"

Marius shook his head and answered with the fond smile which everyone who knew Gavroche used when they spoke of him, "Yes, precisely, and I presume you know him through the charity work you and your father do. Ye gods! Isn't it a coincidence? He's a saucy little thing, but so endearing. I care for him, I truly do. Smart as a whip, that little boy is. He's just an urchin, but … "

" … he's a survivor," Cosette finished, understanding fully. "I agree. The little pup, I believe he calls himself. How lucky you are to have him as a friend."

"Indeed. And, if you would believe it, he's actually the third and youngest child of my neighbours! He ran away from home a long time ago, and I don't think his wretched parents even know he exists at all. But his sisters see him regularly."

Cosette shook her head, laughing at the impossibility of it all. "My God … oh, Marius, look! A sweets vendor!"

Indeed, just on the other side of the street, was a small sweets stall, behind which a bearded fellow called out promises of sugary indulgences that half the people passing by would never have been able to afford. "Hardened honey candies, finest in France!" "Candied nuts!" "Chocolate truffles!"

Her mouth just about watered at the thought of one. "Mmm. Now, I still have money left to buy that treat, and we'll just have to make it a chocolat petit four, won't we?"

Taking her arm again as they approached the stall, Marius answered, "Oh, yes, let's."

As it turned out, they did not have the money left to buy two truffles, so Cosette bought only one, which they agreed to share. The bearded vendor dropped it into a small paper bag and handed it to Marius, for Marius was the gentleman, and now the young couple slipped away from the market crowds to find a quiet place to eat it.

After all, everyone knew that love and chocolate went hand in hand. Marius and Cosette found a quiet fountain some blocks away to perch on the edge of, and he fed her the small chocolate delicacy so she might take the first bite. The sweet taste of it played and tingled delightfully on her tongue. Now she took the second half of the truffle, leaned forward, and took her turn to feed him.

At times like these, the sparks burst and it felt like the entire universe had been created just for little moments like these.