She did it slowly—slower than any gesture needed to be. Her fingers, tipped with the faint gloss of a shade women didn’t wear anymore, pressed into the fabric, flattening the creases, shaping it over her hips with a deliberate care. He saw the way the skirt followed the press of her palms, molding itself to her form before it settled into stillness again. It wasn’t a young woman’s curve—it was fuller, settled with time, and entirely unashamed of its weight.
He didn’t mean to stare, but she gave him nowhere else to look. Her head stayed bowed, her attention seemingly on the hem, yet every angle of her posture drew his gaze upward. The lines of her dress spoke in the way only well-tailored clothes could: not by revealing too much, but by hinting at exactly what was beneath.
When her palms slid lower, he noticed the soft press of her thumb against her hipbone, the way her elbow shifted outward just enough to create the illusion of an invitation. She wasn’t in a hurry—she knew exactly how long each second lasted, how each movement left its own weight in the air.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, her voice dry but not unkind. She didn’t look at him when she said it. Instead, she brushed the side seam of her skirt with her fingers, as though testing the strength of the fabric.
He could have looked away, but there was no real choice. The rhythm of her hands was hypnotic—flatten, smooth, pat, then a slight tug to one side. The kind of motion that could have been practical but felt like something else entirely.
When she finally straightened, the skirt lay perfectly against her body. But she didn’t step back. She let the silence sit there, between them, until he felt his own breath heavier than it should have been. Only then did she glance up, her eyes holding his for a moment too long. The corner of her mouth lifted—not in a smile, but in a knowing tilt that told him she’d felt every bit of his attention.
And then, without another word, she turned, the skirt swaying lightly with her steps, leaving him with the impossible question of whether she had fixed it for herself… or for him.