No One Knows As Well As I

Michael Nodded Tersely, Eyeing A Table Across The Room. It Was Empty. So Empty. So Joyfully, Blessedly Empty. He Could Picture Himself A Very Happy Man At That Table. "not Feeling Very Conversational This Evening, Are We?" Colin Asked, Breaking Into His (admittedly Tame) Fantasies.

He Stepped Toward Her, And Her Heart Just Ached From It. His Face Was So Handsome, And So Dear, And So Perfectly Wonderfully Familiar. She Knew The Slope Of His Cheeks, And The Exact Shade Of His Eys, Brownish Near The Iris, Melting Into Green At The Edge. And His Mouth-she Knew That Mouth, The Look Of It, The Feel Of It. She Knew His Smile, And She Knew His Frown, And She Knew- She Knew Far To Much.

He Blinked A Few Times, Each Motion So Slow That He Was Never Quite Sure If He’d Get His Eyes Open Again. He Wasn’t Wearing A Shirt. Funny How He Was Only Just Realizing It. Funnier Still That He Couldn’t Seem To Summon Any Concern For Her Maidenly Sensibilities. She Might Be Blushing. He Couldn’t Tell. It Was Too Dark To See. But It Didn’t Matter. This Was Honoria. She Was A Good Egg. A Sensible Egg. She Wouldn’t Be Scarred Forever By The Sight Of His Chest.

Suddenly It Was Too Hard To Be In His Presence, Too Painful To Know That He Would Belong To Someone Else.

The Only Words I'll Allow From Your Mouth Are, 'oh, Gareth,' And 'yes, Gareth.'" "what About 'more, Gareth'?" "he Almost Kept A Straith Face. "that Will Be Acceptable.