[ It seems that for every attempt to focus on the path before them, something calls his attention back to the woman beside him. This time it’s the promise of a smile in her voice, gentle as the first daybreak of spring thawing through winter frost.
His gaze lingers upon her visage— not quite meeting her eyes, but drifting to the hint of flush upon her cheeks, then dipping lower upon her face, for the same color is the tint of her lips… as well as the blush of flowers as they pass.
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His gaze lingers upon her visage— not quite meeting her eyes, but drifting to the hint of flush upon her cheeks, then dipping lower upon her face, for the same color is the tint of her lips… as well as the blush of flowers as they pass.
Pink is a lovely color on her.
He replies, thoughtful. ]
Allow me to weave you one.