When she hugs him.
She'll snuggle her face into his shoulder,
the safest place to peek at the world, if her eyes weren't closed.
A smile will be on her lips.
And after she presses herself against him,
no space between their puzzle-piece bodies,
her arms, one over his other shoulder fingers wound into the hair at the base of his neck the other climbing up his back hand grasping his shoulder as if its grip were the only thing holding her on this planet fabric of his shirt gathered under her palm,
she'll gently pass her smiling lips along his neck,
to the delicious hollow below his ear,
where his jawline begins,
shallow intake of breath.
Only then will she allow him,
his arms wrapped around her desperate body,
to gently pull her back, one millimeter,
and touch their soft lips together.