His voice became particularly gentle, "Do you want to hear a story?"
Hannah turned her head to look at him, meeting those jet-black eyes tinged with a smile. "What kind of story?"
"A fairy tale." He smiled and rubbed her head gently, "Little kids who can't sleep always love to hear them."
Hannah pouted, "I'm not a little kid."
She had already come of age two years ago.
Arnold Simmons reached out and wrapped her, along with the blanket, into his arms. She was so delicate and small, with soft white cheeks, smooth black hair, and a pretty, obedient demeanor like a doll. "Even when little kids grow up, they can still listen to fairy tales."
"Alright then." Hannah lowered her head to look at his hand, its defined knuckles, slightly protruding bones, and faintly visible veins, perfect like a work of art.
She couldn't resist placing her hand over his, rubbing her fingertips lightly against the back of his hand, her smile full of satisfaction and joy. "Go ahead, tell me."
