He was halfway out the door when she called after him.
“Hey… you don’t have to go.”
He turned. She was leaning against the frame, eyes low, voice soft.
“You could stay. Just… for the night.”
He smiled politely. “You sure?”
She nodded, almost too quickly. But the way her hand brushed his as he walked back inside — that told the real story.
The bed was made. Lights dimmed. She said, “You can take the couch if you want…”
He didn’t answer.
Because the moment she stepped closer, her lips near his ear, he knew:
Sleep was the last thing on her mind.