The sheepish grin you see when someone forgets she's cursing in public.
The first, painful bite of too-hot gyoza squirting soy sauce against your teeth and making you wince at how goddamned good it tastes.
Lazy strokes of a fingertip along a girl's bare back.
Kisses at the throat, occasional bites, a fistful of hair.
Driving 85 in a 55 blaring Reel Big Fish and poorly, but honestly, singing along.
The blissful realization that you finally get your monologue, feel what your character's saying. It's the difference between reading a poem somebody handed you and performing one you wrote yourself.
Cats. Cats are nice.
This week, dear hypothetical readers: tell me what you love.