Your head was quite comfortably set on Lenny's shoulder, his own cheek against your hair. You each held one half of the book you were simultaneously reading, Lenny thumbing the corner of the page — ready to flip it once you showed you'd finished the final paragraph.

The bark of the tree you were leaning against scratched your back through your clothing, but it was yet to be too irritating so the sensation was ignored.

“You done yet?” your lover muttered, his free hand shifting to rest on your thigh.