with or without

I was settled in my favorite Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was late afternoon and there was a breeze rustling through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the patio, against the house.

She was on a chaise-lounge, legs tucked up to one side, working on a needlepoint project. She was absent-mindedly humming an indistinguishable tune.

Suddenly I rapped my knuckles on the arm of the chair and she looked up.

Indicating a spot directly in front of my chair, I spoke softly, “Come here.”

She got up and came over.

I leaned back into the chair, “Lift your skirt.”