She closes her eyes and makes a soft sound when he kisses her hair, half-whine and half-hum, enjoying the attention, if not the reason for it.
"It's--" she starts, opening her eyes, but she falls abruptly silent when she sees him now kneeling in front of her. Her heart leaps into her throat, and for a dizzying moment she wonders if he's about to pull out a ring, if this is even a good time for that, what on earth she'll say if he does. It's hard to even process what he's saying, to take it at face value and not as a potential preamble to something else. Is he seriously doing this now, tonight, when she's tired and defeated and just wants a bath?
And then he kisses her cheek, and offers her a glass of wine, and that's... that's it, then. The breath she'd been holding escapes in a cough of a laugh. "Oh, do get up," she says, tugging him back to his feet. "And a glass of wine certainly wouldn't hurt." It might help with the unanticipated surge of bloody adrenaline she now has to deal with, at any rate. And after the day she's had, she would've thought she was fresh out, no longer capable of being rattled by anything. So much for that. She rubs a hand over her face as she makes her way over to the table, pulls out a chair, and plops down.
"What are you making?" she asks as Sadie insinuates her head into her lap. Greta absently pats her with one hand; the other propping up her chin as she leans against the table.
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"It's--" she starts, opening her eyes, but she falls abruptly silent when she sees him now kneeling in front of her. Her heart leaps into her throat, and for a dizzying moment she wonders if he's about to pull out a ring, if this is even a good time for that, what on earth she'll say if he does. It's hard to even process what he's saying, to take it at face value and not as a potential preamble to something else. Is he seriously doing this now, tonight, when she's tired and defeated and just wants a bath?
And then he kisses her cheek, and offers her a glass of wine, and that's... that's it, then. The breath she'd been holding escapes in a cough of a laugh. "Oh, do get up," she says, tugging him back to his feet. "And a glass of wine certainly wouldn't hurt." It might help with the unanticipated surge of bloody adrenaline she now has to deal with, at any rate. And after the day she's had, she would've thought she was fresh out, no longer capable of being rattled by anything. So much for that. She rubs a hand over her face as she makes her way over to the table, pulls out a chair, and plops down.
"What are you making?" she asks as Sadie insinuates her head into her lap. Greta absently pats her with one hand; the other propping up her chin as she leans against the table.