“You’re sure I’m not too heavy for you?” She smiles and migrates her caboose tauntingly so.
“Honey child,” he looks into her eyes as opposed to her reflection in the ceiling mirror, “you don’t weigh an ounce over a hundred and ten, soaking wet. I toss hay bales that weigh more than you, sweetheart. Besides, you’re the most comfortable thing I lift all day, so no you little sack of sweetness, you don’t weigh too much. Now, that being said, I love you just the way you are, so keep up the great work on yourself.”
Emma wiggles upon him again, questioning, “But what if I were to get fat? Would you still love me then?”
Robert moves his hands up and down her waist line, slowly, “Of course, I’d still love you. But, realistically, you may end up loosing your seat you love so much. So, keep up th
