And Susan falls in, clutching at him, pulling him as close as he physically can get. She may have satiated some of her physical hunger with the pie and the berries and the cheese, but she feels ravenous just the same. Ravenous, and buoyantly light. Outside of family exchanges and the clumsy attempts of the odd one-time assignation attempting to make a case for a repeat experience back in London, she's not been on the receiving end of a great many gifts before, and as it turns out, she rather likes the combination of an experience and a physical token. She's so tremendously, tremulously happy in a way she once thought would be impossible forevermore.

And she hadn't realized, back when she was so studiously trying to determine the nature of her feelings for him, that the decision she did, in fact, love him wouldn't be the end of it. She hadn't realized that feeling would grow in intensity, or would age like a fine wine, with new flavors to discover over time. Perhaps she ought to have known, but in truth she's a little overwhelmed by it - by the ferocity of her care for this wonderful, thoughtful, gorgeous man.

The tent and its bedroll is just a few paces away. Susan does not suggest they move to it. She's far too preoccupied with the kiss, and with working her hands under his cardigan so she can feel the bare skin of his back.