Grace watched Jeff wrestle free the armchairs. She could've helped; she was strong, and lifted heavy boxes of books untold times during the course of the day. But she liked to watch the stretch and flex of muscles in his back and arms. It was very nice to see. She remembered how those muscles felt beneath her hands, how his body had slid against hers, hot and slick with sweat. Things tightened and clenched low in her body, but she determined to ignore it; they had things to accomplish today.
But later, definitely. She felt heat crawl up her throat and into her cheeks, and damned her pale skin that flushed so easily. Instead, she set the plates on the table, and went back for the juice and his coffee mug.
"Thank you. I feel like we're in a little bistro, or something," she said as she settled into the armchair across from him. Grace wriggled experimentally in the chair. "This is comfortable. Hmm." She ran her fingers over the upholstery. It was sturdy and whole; it didn't really match what she had, but still, maybe they could toss a shawl or something over them. She tried to picture what she could give up to accomodate them--not her own sinfully comfy armchair, but maybe the loveseat. Yes, that would work.