fifty sokeefe kisses

(25) appreciative

Sophie squinted against the light filtering through the leaves of the Panakes tree. The sun beams down on her face, washed warm in the afternoon sun.

With a sigh, she sat back on the palms of her hands, her head lolling to the side to look at Keefe. 

Keefe sat hunched over his lap, a sketchbook perched on his crossed legs. The only noise he made was the sound of his pencil scratching on paper as he drew.

Sophie couldn't help but smile. A quiet Keefe was a rare enough spectacle; a peaceful, quiet, tongue-stuck-out-in-concentration Keefe was almost non-existent nowadays, and she let herself enjoy the moment for a while longer.

He suddenly glanced up, grinning widely when he catches her staring. "Your emotions went all fluttery for a second," Keefe remarked. "Are you checking me out, Foster?"

She scoffed, turning away so he wouldn't see her rising blush. "Not at all," Sophie denied. "Now can I move, or are you not done yet?"

"Face me again," Keefe told her, and she turned to meet his ice blue stare, warm and honeyed in the bright sunlight. "There we go."

His pencil continued scribbling away on the page. Sophie leaned back on her palms again and closed her eyes. If this was going to take a while longer, she might as well bask in the pleasant weather while she was outside.

"Can I tell you something?" Keefe asked after a moment.

"Hm?"

"You're beautiful." He looked up at her with a small smirk, his cheeks dusted pink. "Artistically speaking, of course."

"What was that for?" she asked with a nervous laugh. After so much time spent together, Sophie liked to think she had grown immune to the flirtatious remarks that used to catch her off guard. She should've known better. This was Keefe Sencen she was talking about, after all.

"Because I'm finished now," he replied, slamming his sketchbook closed for emphasis, "and I just wanted you to know that because I can never quite draw you the way I want to, so if you don't like the drawing just know that it's not how I really—"

"Keefe," Sophie scolded fondly. "I'm sure it's great. I'll love it either way."

He twirled his pencil around his fingers absentmindedly, looking unconvinced. "Okay."

She reached out and Keefe timidly handed her his sketchbook. It fell open on the drawing, still fresh with loose graphite dust and eraser shavings.

And she saw herself. Sophie can see herself in the curve of her hands, scrunched in the Havenfield grass; the slope of her neck as she gazed up at the Panakes tree; the dappled sunlight delicately shaded onto her clothes. Her eyes traced over the way he depicted her hair spilling down her back, her features captured in profile, each stroke made with soft purpose and grace. 

Sophie drank in every detail and every little line that Keefe had painstakingly captured on paper, solidifying the image in her photographic memory. It was so clearly drawn with love, and Sophie had never before felt so responsible for someone's heart the way she was with Keefe's.

"Do you like it?" Keefe asked quietly. 

She placed the sketchbook on the ground, careful not to wrinkle the pages, and reached over to bring his face closer to hers. "I love it," she whispered, and watched his face turn bright red as she kissed him.

"Seriously, thank you," Sophie said when she pulled away to glance down at the drawing again. "You're really good, Keefe."

"Thanks," he murmured, then added with a grin, "but I also had a good reference."

She rolled her eyes affectionately and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Unbelievable. Learn to take a compliment, will you?"

"I will when you do."

"Fair enough," Sophie said. Keefe smiled, his eyes shining, and leaned in for another kiss.