Wrinkling his nose at her jibe, Briar just pinched her arm lightly before he released her enough to let her get the sketchbook. There was a particularly loud explosion outside that had his breath startled out of him for a moment, but he forced himself to focus again, to listen to her voice and what she was showing him and ignore what was happening in the rest of town.
"It'll disappear," he told her as he flipped slowly through the pages. "All the plants have their season. A winter garden is completely different." And when he replanted next spring, if they were there to replant next spring, it would be different then too. A part of what made gardens good was that they were ever changing, ever adapting. "But you definitely got what it looks like now. It's good."
And Briar liked the drawings better than he liked photographs of it. Flowers didn't look right to him in photographs.
His praise was followed up by brushing a hand affectionately against her hair. He wasn't shy about being a little more physical toward her over the last week or so, didn't think that she'd mind it anymore.