It's wet. The rain hasn't let up for a solid week now, and the ground is completely saturated with water. She splashes in puddles noisily, soaking the hem of my trousers with muddy water. She shrieks with laughter.
"Look 'mione!" she cries in delight as she brings me – with reverent awe – the first daffodil. I smile,
"Thanks Gin," and she beams like the sun.
She hugs me then, her wet t-shirt draped body pushed onto mine. I know before she moves that she's going to kiss me, and even though my stomach turns I make no move to stop her.