She stood at the stove humming softly as though nothing had happened.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning.”
She handed me a mug.
“Sleep well?”
I almost laughed.
“Not particularly.”
Her eyebrow lifted.
“Something wake you?”
The question hung there.
I stared at her.
She took a slow sip of coffee.
I said, “I thought I heard something.”
“Old pipes,” she replied.
“Right.”
“Very noisy after someone showers.”
There was the faintest movement at the corner of her mouth.
That was when certainty hit me.
She was teasing me.
Not cruelly.
Not recklessly.
But deliberately.
That evening, we ate pasta at the kitchen table with music playing softly in the background.
Michelle poured herself a glass of wine.
I took sparkling water.
For nearly an hour, the conversation stayed safe.
Work.
College.
Books.
Her gallery.
Then she stood to clear the plates.
As she passed behind me, her fingers brushed my shoulder.
