Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty.

Sure, there were lots of positive adjectives she would have included in a description of herself. Clever, athletic, determined, sensitive, ambitious, caring, discerning, admirable.

Ok, maybe "admirable" was stretching things a bit.

But pretty? That was a word for the popular girl in high school, with the childish voice and the two-expression face: desirous and desirable; I want THAT and you want ME!

Pretty was the compliment of an unimaginative father, the manipulative tool of a mother living vicariously.

It wasn't something she had ever felt the need to apply to herself.

Then he said it. About her.

And it felt good.