"Only if you thought you could do it. I don't have any illusions about who I am or what I am," she replied, looking up at him from her newly settled position on his chest. "What matters is who I am through your eyes and Charlie's eyes, that's what matters most to me." Abi's arm was back around his waist and her legs intertwined with his under the blanket. "Besides, I just love to hear you talk sometimes. Your voice makes me happy too, almost as much as those big paws of yours."
Princess. She had hated that nickname before, spoken by drunken morons in the clubs who tried to cop a feel of the passing waitress. Babe, honey, Princess. Some term of faux endearment meant to denigrate her. But with Hemingway, it had been ameliorated. "Time and space travel," she quietly corrected. "Best thing that ever happened to me."