Mary Scott sensed the searing heat in David Locke's gaze, which settled on her flat belly. Her cheeks flushed pink. "What are you staring at? I'm not pregnant!"
After speaking, she froze for a moment. It seemed they had never discussed the topic of children. Now that it was brought up, there was a strange sense of novelty. Her mind wandered, imagining a tiny version of them, bearing seven or eight points of resemblance to David Locke yet only about ninety centimeters tall. The thought instantly melted her heart. Her fingertips tingled—perhaps, when their relationship became more stable, they could really consider having one...
"What are you thinking about?" David Locke's deep voice snapped her back, his large hand waving in front of her absent-minded face.
Mary Scott returned to her senses, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips. She was oblivious to how enticing her actions appeared.
