Evening was settled, darkness shone through window’s view beyond. Evening moon waned, less seen than night before, and within, candles and lamp lights illuminated corners of room reaching outward through space between and casting shadow in the contours and objects of place and too of bodies resting in chairs, reading, separated, but visible to one another.
The room was warm, unseasonably so for winter, and in its way, Annie dressed in loose white tee shirt over open legs below, dark green of fabric strip showing over height of leg where shirt caught and rested on hip’s point.
James tried to read, but Annie’s sight and presence, light-shown body, book in hand, reclined in casual repose far more captivating than book he held. He tried to read, but thinking other thoughts, lost place and train of thought as eyes and attention returned to whom it was he wished to hold.
Sensing and aware through space and room between, Annie smiled, low break of a laugh as she felt his attention fixed to her, feigning a false indifference as laugh composed, she turned another page, eyes rising to sight and finding of his own to her.
She read another paragraph, and caring nothing either for the story, lowered cover from its hold and down to lap, eyes and lips smiling as his gaze held strong in fix and focus to her as she rested. Light of the lamps painted the loose folds of the shirt as it fell in softening outline to the lines and fine curves of her body’s figure.
Her large toe began to move, and then the rest of her right foot that rested raised and crossed over ankle of her left.
“What?” she asked, toes and then full foot tapping into the air.
James smiled, his own voice breaking then with soft laugh, aware and admitting of his caught eyes and attention, given away without deliberate intent.
“I couldn’t help it,” he smiled, leaving book to rest on table beside the chair in which he still sat.
“Help what?”
“Staring.”
Annie’s smile grew, tap of her foot stilling and settling again so that only toes moved, tapping still.
“Is it a good story?” James asked.
“Not really,” Annie answered, “I’m a little tired of it at the moment. I was hoping you might help.”
“With a different book?”
“No, not really,” Annie’s eyes flashed smile that tempered after into different energy, lips staying straight through all. Her foot began again in dance and tap and sway before knees bent and she drew them back and nearer into body’s rest. “I could go for more than a story.”
Heart sped as she read reaction in his face, a show of wanting same.
He rose, turning out light of the reading lamp before making way to hers, still bright. Arriving, with sounding click of lamp-knob’s turn, light went dark. Candle-dance of wick and flame by side was light’s only ambiance that remained: that, and a something in the eyes.
Days were short. Nights were long; and in the unseasonable heat of then; they made the most of gifted time.