Move
The space inside the entry as decidedly not big enough for the both of them to stand while holding parcels.
"If you'll move, Charles, I'll get these things to the kitchen."
Obligingly, he shifted to one side, pressing himself against the wall.
The kitchen wasn't small, but it wasn't large either. And as he didn't know where everything was supposed to go, he tended to stand in the middle of the floor, brow wrinkled as he tried to determine where to place the new linens. Or the bag of flour. Or the apples.
She wanted the apples on the counter next to the big mixing bowl, he remembered. Before he put them there, he took a moment to appreciate the possibility of an apple tart later. Then he felt the dig into his ribs.
"Move, Charles, before you grow roots and send out branches."
Obligingly, he shifted out the way and took the apples to the counter.
Banished from the kitchen, he made his way to the settee and sat in the middle, leaning over to retrieve the book he had been reading. Checking to make certain she was occupied in the kitchen, he swung his feet up onto the settee and leaned back against the arm, propping the book up on his chest. Her voice muttering things under her breath in the kitchen was soothing. The book was not terribly engaging. His snores were barely audible. The tap on his ankles wrenched him out his nap.
"Move over, Charles. You're taking up your half out of the middle, my man."
Obligingly, he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. She immediately sat down and slipped under his arm to curl up into his side. The tart smelled delicious.
It was delicious. And the evening was spent quietly reading and chatting until a large yawn split her face. She got up, declaring it to be time for bed. He smiled and bent down to bank the fire in the sitting room. then he frowned at the woodbox and wondered if, perhaps, he shouldn't fill it before morning. Her small hand slipped into his and began tugging him towards the stairs with surprising strength.
"Move, Charles. I haven't got all night to be waiting for you to come to a decision about the woodbox."
"But that's just it," he said with a smile. "We've got the rest of our lives."
She just gave him a look and started up the stairs, throwing a glance over her shoulder at him that made him feel quite warm enough without any extra firewood needed.
Charles Carson moved as quickly as he could.
A/N: I've been HORRIBLY remiss in responding to reviews. I'll try to do better, and PLEASE know how much I love each and every one of them.
