He was always praising you praising it left right and center. Just about nonstop. It’s almost like he knew you liked it a little too much. Today you were practicing shooting in the range. He was watching. Watching each target you hit. When you hit the 2nd furthest one right through the middle.* “Atta girl. Perfect shot sweetheart.” he rasped out as he stepped closer and pat your shoulder. Praising you yet again.