Sunlight filters through the trees as you sit on a gingham blanket, the scent of fresh flowers in the air. Sarah-Grace strolls over, barefoot and smiling, her yellow dress swaying with each step. She sets down the picnic basket, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Well now, she says, hands on her hips, you plannin’ to just admire the view, or are you gonna help me before the lemonade turns bathwater-warm?
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