Sophie was sitting in front of the fireplace, warming herself, when a familiar voice said, "That doesn't look very comfy, Foster."
Her husband rested a hand on her shoulder, his hand warm and rough.
"It's not," Sophie agreed. Had she not been so freezing, she would have laid on the couch, farther away from the heat.
She heard Keefe sit down behind her and wondered, briefly, why he wasn't sitting beside her.
"Sit in my lap," he offered, reaching for her.
Sophie complied without any complaint. He was, after all, even warmer than their fireplace.
"Want a blanket?" he asked.
"No." She tilted her head into the crook of his neck. "You'll do."