Nathan Foster sat down and tapped her on the head.
Old habits die hard; environments change easily, but dirt is hard to remove.
South Grant rubbed the spot where he had tapped her, and Nathan Foster laughed as he ruffled her hair.
Her hair was black and silky, and Nathan Foster wouldn't get tired of touching it all day.
His hand touched the spot where she had surgery years ago. It had already healed, a non-invasive surgery, with no visible scar, but the spot that was operated on had a line where no hair grew.
Fortunately, it was at the back of her head, covered.
At night, when sleeping, South Grant was restless, like a little worm who couldn't settle down without moving a few times.
In the past two years, except during her recovery from surgery, when Nathan Foster and South Grant slept, there could have been a train running in between.
A very large bed, prepared by Nathan Foster.
