For a long while, Meg laid quite still, letting him touch her, and attempting not to react in too obvious a way. Every time his fingers touched her she felt it with her whole body. Such an innocent gesture should not have elicited that reaction from her. She found herself wishing he wouldn't stop with her hair. She imagined his fingers circling her ear, trailing down her neck, perhaps tracing along the color of her shirt. The mental image, devoid of anything that could even remotely be considered sexual, particularly for someone like her, still managed to send a slight shiver down her spine. She knew she should pull away from him, perhaps sit up, or at the very least discourage him from touching her. But she didn't.
She was having trouble following the film, but that was hardly a problem. They weren't watching it for her benefit after all. As Gene Kelly entered into the title song, she shifted her position, sliding down a bit so that she could rest her head direction on his leg, rather than her arms, and look up at him. She wanted to watch him as he watched her favorite scene. Did he know what it felt like to be as happy as Don Lockwood was in that scene? Meg certainly didn't. She'd lived vicariously through the scene, watching a man so deliriously in love that even a rain drenched street could be a scene of joy.
"How do you like it so far? Songs not too confusing for you?" she asked, unable to resist her curiosity.