“Bullshit,” Jack thought the moment Linda said it.
She sat across from him at the little table on her porch, nursing a glass of red wine. Her silver hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few strands falling against her cheek. The July air was warm, sticky, and full of crickets, but Linda looked perfectly at ease in her thin cotton nightgown.
“I sleep just fine alone,” she’d said with a smile, but her tone was soft, almost playful.
Jack, sixty-nine and divorced for nearly a decade, just smiled back and took a slow sip of his beer.
“Yeah?” he said finally, leaning back in his chair. “Funny, your sheets would probably disagree.”
She laughed—low, throaty, unhurried.
And then she looked at him. Really looked at him.
Jack felt his throat tighten a little. There was something in her gaze—not loud, not obvious, but bold enough to make his pulse skip.
Linda and Jack had been neighbors for five years, trading favors, mowing each other’s lawns, sharing dinners. But tonight was different. Tonight, she’d invited him over after sunset, just “to sit, have a drink, and catch up.”
Now, two glasses in, the air felt heavier.
Linda set her wine down, stood slowly, and walked toward the railing, her bare feet silent against the wood. Slow motion: her nightgown shifted around her thighs as she moved, the fabric catching the faint breeze.
“You always have an answer for everything, don’t you?” she said softly, without turning around.
Jack leaned forward in his chair, watching the curve of her shoulder as she rested against the railing. “Depends on the question.”
She glanced back over her shoulder, and that look—soft, lingering, dangerous—told him this wasn’t just small talk anymore.
Linda came back to the table, but instead of sitting across from him, she pulled out the chair right next to his.
“Closer,” she said simply.
Jack swallowed, his grip tightening on his beer bottle. He didn’t move—at least not right away. But Linda reached for his hand, her fingertips brushing his knuckles, slow and deliberate.
That small contact sent a current straight through him.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered, tilting her head just enough that a strand of silver hair slid down across her cheek.
“Maybe it’s the beer,” Jack said, though his voice was lower, rougher now.
Linda leaned in, close enough that he felt the warmth of her breath at the edge of his jaw.
Everything slowed down.
The night air. The crickets. The hum of electricity from the streetlight outside.
Linda’s lips hovered near his ear as she whispered, “I don’t sleep as well as I pretend.”
Jack turned his head, meeting her gaze. Inches between them. No words. Just quiet, steady breathing.
Her hand slid further into his, fingers curling around his palm.
“You should go home,” she said, though her voice was soft, playful.
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
Her eyes held his for a long moment, and then she shook her head—barely.
They didn’t rush.
Linda stood, and Jack followed her inside, the wooden floor cool under his feet. She led him to the bedroom without saying a word, her fingertips brushing lightly against his as they walked, the contact enough to keep his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
When she stopped beside the bed, she turned to face him, resting her hands lightly on his chest.
“You know what I miss most?” she whispered.
Jack shook his head.
“Sharing warmth,” she said simply.
And then, slow, deliberate, she slid his hand down until his fingertips brushed against the edge of her sheets.
“See?” she murmured. “Cold.”
Jack exhaled, shaky, his hand curling slightly into the fabric beneath his fingers.
Linda tilted her face up, her lips brushing his chin as she whispered, “Stay.”
Later, they lay tangled in the soft cotton, the night air humming through the open window. Linda’s head rested on Jack’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his skin.
“You were right,” she said quietly.
“About what?”
“My sheets,” she murmured, her voice low and warm against his shoulder. “They hate being empty.”
Jack smiled, pulling her closer, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against him.
“Guess we fixed that,” he said.
Linda laughed softly, kissed his collarbone, and whispered, “Guess we did.”