“I like it,” Jemima said, of the mysterious little scratch on him. It was nice to know other people had small imperfections, even people as handsome and effortlessly charming as Jack Humphrey-Mavis. “It suits you.”
He had kissed her hand again, though, which summarily distracted her from probing any further. Instead, she felt that pleasant melting feeling again, because this had turned into a perfect summer’s night, and she was wondrously relaxed, so very happy. Her mouth opened before she could stop herself. “Do... do you think you could love me?” Jemima inquired, too brazen by half, with a sudden swell of confidence or desperation or something –
And then she bit her tongue so hard she was sure it would bleed, because she realised that thought had come out aloud, and she couldn’t take it back. (And whatever was anyone supposed to say to something like that?! Jemima wanted to sink into the camellia bush and never re-emerge.)
He had kissed her hand again, though, which summarily distracted her from probing any further. Instead, she felt that pleasant melting feeling again, because this had turned into a perfect summer’s night, and she was wondrously relaxed, so very happy. Her mouth opened before she could stop herself. “Do... do you think you could love me?” Jemima inquired, too brazen by half, with a sudden swell of confidence or desperation or something –
And then she bit her tongue so hard she was sure it would bleed, because she realised that thought had come out aloud, and she couldn’t take it back. (And whatever was anyone supposed to say to something like that?! Jemima wanted to sink into the camellia bush and never re-emerge.)
