Of course, she thought to herself. Stupid crush. Stupid brain. Still, she smiled to herself. Her subconscious had conjured up a hell of a picture for her to enjoy. He was lounging easily against a boulder, his legs ridiculously long in the low grass. He was holding a book, reading it with a quiet intensity. His white-blond hair was perfect, naturally, and his face was calmer than she’d ever seen it. She watched him while he read: he had an expressive face, lost in the book, reacting with quick scowls or smiles. He brought one long finger to his mouth and gave it a surreptitious lick before he turned the page.