The house sits quiet beneath the deepening sky, porch light glowing warm against the front door. The yard is trimmed now. Curtains hang in the windows.
It looks like a home.
Our home.
Soon.
I put the car in park but leave the engine running.
Drew stares at the house.
“I should check on Luna,” he says.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t unbuckle.
I wait.
His fingers move to the seatbelt, then still.
He looks at me. “You’re not coming in?”
I turn fully toward him. “Do you want me to?”
He looks toward the house, then back at me.
"...I don't want you to leave."
This time, he doesn’t look away.
The words are quiet and honest.
My fingers curl slightly around the steering wheel.
I lean toward him just enough for his attention to drop to my mouth again.
His breath catches.
“I’m not coming in.”
His face falls slightly before he can hide it. “Why not?”
“Because you’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not drunk anymore.”
“You’re not clear-headed either.”
“I’m clear enough.”
“Not for me.”
That stops him.
His voice lowers. “What does that mean?”
“It means when you ask me to come inside, I want you to mean it tomorrow, too.”
