The moment it arrives, my dear.

[He keeps one hand working its fingers through her (soft, light, silken red) hair as he drops the other to rest against the small of her back, rubbing minute, steady circles.

(she's his, it suddenly registers again, and it thrills him)

(his by choice, not even driven by heat or desperation for some asset of his)

He has, for the moment, forgotten to inspect the rest of the table.]