She turns back to me. Her expression shifts.
“Why didn't you?” she asks.
I keep it simple. I don’t reach for language that makes it safer. “Because I didn’t want anyone else.”
The words sit between us. I realize the word "else" tells her and me everything we need to know. There has never been anyone else but her.
She exhales slowly, the tension easing out of her shoulders.We sit there like that, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her arm, not touching, not retreating either.
She finishes her wine and sets the glass down. “I should probably get going.”
I nod, even though I don’t want her to.
She reaches for her purse, pulls out her wallet. I put my hand over hers. “Let me.”
She studies me for a moment, then lets go.
I pull a bill from my money clip and set it on the bar. When she stands, I lift her coat and hold it open. She steps into it, and for a second my hands rest at her shoulders and neither of us moves.
“Can I see you again?” I ask.
Her gaze sharpens. Not defensive. Focused.
“You’re not going to tell me this is a bad idea.”
“No.”
“You’re not going to promise me safety.”
“No.”
She nods once. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Thanks for the wine,” I say. “It was almost as good as the company.”
She smiles faintly, then steps closer. Close enough that I can smell her.
“Can I interest you in another Pinot at my place?”
The question isn’t playful. It isn’t coy, either. Instead, it's offered the same way she's offered everything else tonight, deliberately, like she already knows what the answer will cost.
“I can't think of anything I'd like more,” I say without hesitation.
We don’t linger after that. Not because we’re rushing, but because there’s nothing left to negotiate. She pulls her coat tighter around herself as we step outside. The air hascooled enough that it feels like a clean line drawn across my face.
We walk without talking. The street is quieter now, the kind of quiet that presses in instead of opening up. Her steps fall into rhythm with mine without effort. At the corner, she glances over, then reaches for my arm, not tentatively, just anchoring herself there. I don’t comment on it. I adjust my pace and let her stay.
Her place isn’t far. When we get inside, she flicks on a single light and kicks off her shoes, moving through the space like it belongs to her in a way that isn’t performative. She sets her purse down, then pauses, suddenly aware of the silence.
“I just need to say this out loud before we go any further” she says before turning around to face me. "If we’re doing this, I need it to be a conscious decision, not a habit or muscle memory."
“I completely agree,” I answer.
She grips my coat by the lapels, holding me there. We’re close enough that I can feel her breathing.
Then she pulls me in.
Her lips find mine in the dark, her hands still gripping my coat. I back her against the wall, my fingers threading through her hair. She tastes like wine and desire, familiar and new all at once.
