When she turned, I was still standing close.
Closer than necessary.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she said.
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like you’re deciding something.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Anything I should prepare for?”
I caught the hem of her shirt lightly between my fingers.
“Possibly.”
Her breath changed.
Small.
Noticeable.
The room changed with it.
No dramatic music.
No perfect lighting.
Just a kitchen lamp, a half-wrapped block of gouda, and Ellie standing close enough that I could feel warmth through her shirt.
“Can I kiss you?” I asked.
Her mouth curved.
“You’ve done it before.”
“I’m thorough.”
“Yes.”
I kissed her.
Slowly at first.
The way she had kissed me on the pier.
Her hands settled at my hips. Mine moved beneath the open edges of her shirt, touching the warm skin at her waist.
The kiss deepened.
Ellie made that sound again.
The one that had apparently occupied most of her night.
This time, I felt it against my mouth.
I pulled back just enough to breathe.
