Caroline Edwin woke up.
She had just freshened up when she saw Blake Fuller return with two breakfasts, organized the blanket, drew back the curtains, and let the room's light become bright and clear.
She picked up one of the breakfasts and saw it was a light white porridge. Her gaze was flat, unsurprised, as she scooped up a spoonful and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Quite virtuous, huh? Just like the river snail maiden described in the stories."
Blake Fuller also picked up a breakfast, "Who made the river snail maiden fancy a 'farmer, who works hard without complaint, enduring willingly and sweetly.'
Caroline Edwin's eyes turned serious, "A farmer would surely cherish the river snail maiden."
Seeing him eating the same white porridge as herself, a faint ripple stirred in her heart. Actually, he didn't have to do this at all.
There is a type of romance not found in words, but in the other person's every move, in the minutiae of little things.
