He looked over his shoulder at the living room, then back at the kitchen, trying to make the connection between the color palettes. He was about to look over his shoulder again, but then she started moving, and his gaze was instantly fixed, frozen.
He liked watching her move, even the frantic way in which she hunted for the oven mitt was somehow graceful. It was much like the way her paper butterfly's uneven flight was graceful. It was unconventional, and he liked it. Piper had met countless women in his life, and they all blended together in his memories. They were pale shadows compared to the woman in front of him, and he leaned against the kitchen door frame and took in her vibrancy. His gaze lingering on every curve, then lingering on her face, his interest plain and clear and unhidden.