“Give it to me.”
She lowered the towel.
“Why?”
“I am not taking it away. I am asking you to let someone else hold it while it hurts.”
The room went quiet. Dani opened the drawer. She removed both bibs. Then she placed them in my hands. The paper was lighter than expected. She watched me hold them. No joke. No charm. I folded them carefully and placed them on the table rather than hiding them.
“Dinner date,” I said.
“Very normal.”
“Mail, budgeting, kissing, emotional race artifacts.”
“Strong range.”
I took her hand.
“Do you want me to stay?”
The question had become larger than sleep. Dani answered without delay.
“Yes.”
I stayed. The decision changed the apartment. Nothing physical had happened yet, but every object seemed newly aware of the bedroom down the hall. Dani looked at the bibs on the table. Then at me.
“Do you want a plan?” she asked.
The remembered question made my pulse move faster.
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Truth?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
She did. Slowly at first, as though leaving room for revision. Her hands settled at my waist. Mine moved beneath the damp ends of her hair. The kiss deepened. Dani’s mouth traveled to my jaw, then my neck. The sensation pulled a sound from me before I could assess it. She stopped immediately.
“Good sound?”
“Yes.”
“Documented.”
“Do not joke.”
“I’m nervous.”
The admission softened me.
“So am I.”
Her forehead rested against mine.
“What do you want?” she asked.
