The Way He Looked at Me
I stopped Tim with a hand on his arm.
"What happened?"
I pointed without speaking.
"Oh" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh, he's perfect."
The sound was enough to send the hare bounding away, disappearing into the tree line.
"Snowshoe hare," I told him. "Brown in summer. White when the snow comes."
He stared at where it had vanished. "How do you just know everything?"
I glanced down the mountain. "I don't know anything about living down there."
"Trust me," Tim said, reaching over and threading his fingers through mine, tugging me toward the house, "you're not missing much. Come on. Dinner, then we find something to watch. I haven't forgotten that I'm introducing you to television."
Bab Populer