" He guided Libby to the bench, sat down, then tugged her forward to sit across his lap. “Michael!” she gasped. “Hush. No one can see us.” He liked the feel of her on his lap, but she swallowed and glanced about. “It’s unseemly,” she said in a halfhearted protest. That didn’t stop her from draping her arms around his shoulders. He bounced his knee, bumping her into the air and settling her more comfortably onto his lap. “It is a bit, isn’t it?” He set his hands on her hips and liked everything about the way she fit against his body. “Come,” he urged. “Tell me why you are still upset. "

― Elizabeth Camden , The Rose of Winslow Street