The room seemed to shrink.
I said nothing.
She rose from the couch.
At the hallway entrance, she stopped and looked back.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Then she disappeared upstairs.
I remained alone in the dim living room, listening to the music she had forgotten to turn off.
And for the first time, I admitted the truth I had been fighting since I arrived.
I wanted her.
The terrifying part was beginning to believe she wanted me too.
Part 2 in the comment.
Part 2
The next morning, Michelle acted as if nothing had happened.
That almost made it worse.
She stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing an oversized navy shirt, scrolling through her phone while coffee brewed.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“I mean tired.”
“I know what you meant.”
Her eyes held mine.
“Thinking too much?”
“Maybe.”
A small smile appeared. “Dangerous habit.”
Later, she asked me to help bring down a storage box from the laundry closet.
