[Her lips curve at the touch of his cheek and warmth slips down through her chest and the tips of her fingers. That's what she wants, him tucking into her just as much as she wants to be able to tuck into him. It's important to her, to feel wanted... needed. Even, and maybe especially, in little physical ways like this. There's a puff of breath against his neck and a sound in her throat as her lips curl more.]

Chores? [After a pause, softer, for all the things that had been wrong back then she'd never even paid enough attention to realize...] I wish you could have come to my house. Mom always made special treats the first day we would get snowed in. She used to let me stand on a chair at the counter and help her with the mixing. And that night - if it was still snowing - there was this big, old fairytale book on the top shelf of the bookcase papa would get down to read...