"James Black, can't you be just a little nicer to me?" Jane Sampson muttered, "I was sleeping so soundly this morning—couldn't you have thought to treat me better and not wake me up?"
"Be a little nicer to you?" James Black sneered, "What do you mean by treat you better? If you want to climb onto the roof, should I get a ladder for you? If you want to pry up the tiles, should I find you a stick?"
Listening to Jane Sampson's playful giggling it felt like she was pretending to be coy, James Black still resisted the urge to pluck the laughing woman off his back.
Just...
"Jane Sampson, what are you doing with your hand?" James Black's eyebrows twitched.
"Feeling your pocket," Jane Sampson replied honestly—and upon being discovered—she brazenly moved from his jacket pocket to his trouser pocket to continue her search.
"Looking for what?" James Black guessed, "The keys to the house?"
