with each love i cut loose i was never the same
Flora can’t help it; her whole face lights up, a glow she tries (and utterly fails) to rein in. It might be rude to beam this brightly about someone in front of Callum, but the warmth spills through her anyway, softening her posture and brushing colour across her cheeks. She clears her throat, attempting—poorly—to gather a little dignity. "I’m lucky too," she says, voice gentled but still sun-warm. "He’s one of the good ones." And that truth sits in her chest like something warm and steadying, a tide that lifts her a little higher even as she forces her attention back to Cal.
His admission earns him a surprised little lift of her brows; Callum is handsome, kind, and far too charming to be drifting unattached. She bumps her shoulder against his in easy affection, giving him a sideways grin. "Yeah, well...a guy like you shouldn’t be tied down anyway." Her tone lilts teasingly, softening what might otherwise sound like a line; it’s more admiration than flirtation, warm rather than sharp.
As he drops the last of his clothes into the chute, Flora lets her gaze track the market around them, bright tarps and swaying lanterns casting soft colours over the boardwalk. "So," she asks, turning back to him, "do you need anything to replace what you just donated?"
His admission earns him a surprised little lift of her brows; Callum is handsome, kind, and far too charming to be drifting unattached. She bumps her shoulder against his in easy affection, giving him a sideways grin. "Yeah, well...a guy like you shouldn’t be tied down anyway." Her tone lilts teasingly, softening what might otherwise sound like a line; it’s more admiration than flirtation, warm rather than sharp.
As he drops the last of his clothes into the chute, Flora lets her gaze track the market around them, bright tarps and swaying lanterns casting soft colours over the boardwalk. "So," she asks, turning back to him, "do you need anything to replace what you just donated?"
