The faint honey-colored skin was half-exposed in Sophie Wilson's sight like this.
In an instant of excitement, Sophie Wilson let go of Charles Seymour's hand, grabbing his shirt with one swift motion. She wrestled intensely with herself over whether to rip it open for a good look or obediently button it back up.
Two little figures in her mind were fiercely battling, the fight so intense it seemed to eclipse sun and moon, making the world lose its color.
Considering the time and place, along with her own physical issues, Sophie decided to play the lady.
She carefully buttoned Charles Seymour's shirt, saying seriously, "Be careful not to catch a cold. Even with the heater in the car, you can't be like this, be good."
Charles Seymour watched her earnestly button his shirt, yet her soft fingers kept rubbing against the skin beneath.
Was this shirt really so hard to button?
