His lips smile against her skin, and it instantly makes her stomach taut. The idea that the simplest little things can make him smile like that kind of does everything for her.

She slouches against him like she's practically ready to let him fan her and feed her grapes while she lounges, but her hand covers his and flattens it, fingers spreading, over her bare middle.

Listening to music is all well and good. He's a performer at heart, and he enjoys it. While she is able to appreciate his talent -- but maybe not like someone more knowledgeable and interested in music could -- it's fast becoming more of a visual experience for her than anything else.

And she unabashedly enjoys it. He closes his eyes when he plays, and the moment he does, her eyes rove recklessly over him. She gets to watch his hands move over the saxophone in a way that's almost intimate enough to make her feel like she should be jealous. And she gets to watch the way light attaches itself to his hair, makes it glint and shine.

She has no wish to grow her own hair long, but... she likes his just fine that way. When she enjoys something, she enjoys a lot of it.

"If you play, Mister Saxophone, I'll listen."