“You’re welcome.”
She stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on my arm.
“So,” she said, her voice dropping slightly. “Should we head upstairs?”
I looked at her.
Saw the expectation in her eyes.
The assumption that this night would end the way the gallery night had ended.
“I’ve had a long day,” I said evenly. “And I’ve got an early morning.”
Her smile faltered.
“Oh.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Did I—” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I said, and I meant it. “You didn’t.”
I leaned down and kissed her.
Soft.
Brief.
Enough to reassure her but not enough to invite more.
“Come on,” I said.
I walked her through the house and out to the driveway where her car was parked.
She unlocked it and turned to face me, her expression uncertain.
“Amai—”
“Next time,” I said gently, “call first before you come over.”
She blinked.
“Oh. Okay. I just thought?—”
“I know,” I said. “But call first.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
I kissed her again.
Watched her get in her car.
Watched her drive away.
Then I turned and walked back into the house.
