If they were watching a movie, he would watch her face, cataloguing each expression as it passed across her face – interest, amusement, frustration, satisfaction. Even if it was a film he had no interest in seeing, watching it with her was an experience not to be missed.

Sometimes she would catch him in the act. If she was brushing her hair, or standing in the kitchen, with her leg on the counter as if it was a barre, she would see him from the corner of her eye, he thought, and stop what she was doing, and ask if he needed something.

I’m just looking at you, he would answer. Can’t I look at you? And she would blush very prettily, and shrug and tell him that she supposed he could.

He thought the way she ate fruit was positively sinful. Grapes were pressed between her full berry-red lips, and though he never saw the movement of her jaw when she bit down on them, he saw the pleasure explode into her eyes when the flavor was released. Bananas were nibbled at, savored, and he especially loved to kiss her just after she’d finished one.

But it was the way she ate watermelon that riveted him. She would sit in the blue high-backed chair under the soft pink bulb that lit their kitchen table, with her bare feet dangling just above the floor, and her thick hair twisted into a messy bun, because, she’d explained, she didn’t like the way it felt on the back of her neck.

She didn’t pick up watermelon wedges and eat them sandwich like. Instead, she would lay them flat on a plate, and methodically remove all the seeds, using just one tine of her fork to pull them from the moist pink flesh of the fruit. Then she would begin with the very edge of the slice, and begin eating, using the fork to scoop up each bite.

A single slice of watermelon could last for an hour, with her, for she split her attention between her fruit and whatever book she was reading. She would hold the book open with her left hand, turning pages by half-lifting it and stretching her finger. Her right hand would wield the fork, which she set down after every few bites, to use her napkin, or lift her water glass and take a sip.

Watching her, he could taste the sweet flavor of the fruit, combined with the familiar scent of her sun-warmed skin, and feel her soft curves beneath his fingers.

He thought she was beautiful.