The little crease between his eyebrows is charming, the deep concentration on such a simple, silly task.

"When I was kid one of my foster dads was really into, um, art therapy. We used to go on walks to find the best, flattest, roundest rocks and he taught me how to paint those little mandalas on them." Her hand lifts between them and she presses her first finger to the tip of his nose like she is dotting it with phantom paint, then to the bridge of his nose, then to that little crease between his eyebrows.

"Have I changed your mind about sunsets?"