Greta oofs playfully as Saoirse clambers onto their laps, but makes no real objection. It's sweet -- and understandable -- and it means she's close enough for Greta to drop a kiss onto her hair and give her arm a little rub.
"Oh," she says, as if seriously considering the idea. "I suppose we could. Just set our presents aside until our next birthdays roll around. We'd be opening them before you knew it." Well, Thomas and herself would; Saoirse would have a much longer wait, and Greta gives her arm a light squeeze to show she's joking.
And then she's distracted by Thomas's attentions, a warm smile spreading across her face as his I love you registers. She hums in quiet acknowledgment, then leans back enough to press a sweet, chaste kiss against his lips.
If someone had asked her an hour or so ago, she could have made a convincing argument that they didn't need to be married -- that they were living as if they were already, and a bit of paperwork wouldn't have made that much of a difference. But that was before she saw how happy her answer had made him. She knows his previous life was relatively joyless, and she's taken no small amount of pleasure in increasing his supply here, plying him with love and affection and humor as if feeding up a hungry person with her baking. She doesn't know quite what the metaphorical equivalent of that this would be -- like loosening a belt, or taking out a hemline -- but if something as simple as a bit of paper could make him that much happier, well. They could go to City Hall tomorrow, as far as she's concerned.
They can work out the details later. For now, she keeps one arm curled around Saoirse, and with the other, she finds Thomas's hand and laces their fingers together. They're a bit of a tangle, really, but a very cozy one.
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"Oh," she says, as if seriously considering the idea. "I suppose we could. Just set our presents aside until our next birthdays roll around. We'd be opening them before you knew it." Well, Thomas and herself would; Saoirse would have a much longer wait, and Greta gives her arm a light squeeze to show she's joking.
And then she's distracted by Thomas's attentions, a warm smile spreading across her face as his I love you registers. She hums in quiet acknowledgment, then leans back enough to press a sweet, chaste kiss against his lips.
If someone had asked her an hour or so ago, she could have made a convincing argument that they didn't need to be married -- that they were living as if they were already, and a bit of paperwork wouldn't have made that much of a difference. But that was before she saw how happy her answer had made him. She knows his previous life was relatively joyless, and she's taken no small amount of pleasure in increasing his supply here, plying him with love and affection and humor as if feeding up a hungry person with her baking. She doesn't know quite what the metaphorical equivalent of that this would be -- like loosening a belt, or taking out a hemline -- but if something as simple as a bit of paper could make him that much happier, well. They could go to City Hall tomorrow, as far as she's concerned.
They can work out the details later. For now, she keeps one arm curled around Saoirse, and with the other, she finds Thomas's hand and laces their fingers together. They're a bit of a tangle, really, but a very cozy one.