The Door Left Open (Part 2)

I heard her the moment she paused in the hallway.

The old floorboards in this house keep no secrets. All day they murmured where she walked, when she hesitated, how many times she slipped past my door—even though the bathroom was in the other direction.

Three times.
She'd passed by three unnecessary times today.

I kept my back to the door, fingers sliding along the lamp switch without pressing it. Let her look. Let her see the curve of my shoulder, the way silk catches light and releases it. I'd chosen this nightgown specifically. Vintage. Bias cut. The kind that makes every movement look like water.

"Your door," she said. Her voice carried that careful softness of someone trying not to break something. "It's open."

As if I didn't know.
As if I hadn't spent ten minutes adjusting it to the perfect angle.
Just enough light. Just enough shadow. Just enough.

"Is it?" I kept my voice low; let it curl with suggestion.

I could feel her hovering there, caught between propriety and want. The same way she'd been hovering all day. Those stolen glances during the workshop. The way her breath changed when I leaned across the table for my pen. How her fingers had trembled, just slightly, when I'd handed her coffee this morning and let our hands brush.

She thought she was being subtle.
She wasn't.

"I wasn't sure if you meant to leave it that way."

Sweet thing. Still giving me an out. Still pretending this might be accident instead of architecture.

I shifted, let the silk whisper against my skin, made sure she could see the long line of my neck. "Maybe I did."

Her breath caught. I heard it. Felt it. That small surrender of surprise.

The floorboard creaked. She'd moved closer. Good.

"You can go to bed," I offered, still not turning. "Get some rest. Forget this happened."

Silence. She didn't move. Even better.

I touched the lamp switch again, a small gesture she'd see in silhouette. A question posed in shadow.

"Or," I said, "you can stay a moment."

"How long is a moment?"

There it was. That spark I'd sensed in her all week. Wit. Desire. Daring.

I smiled.

"As long as you need."

Another step. The light from my room reached her now. I could feel its warmth extend to where she stood. Could feel the way the space between us had become something living, breathing, electric.

I finally turned. Slowly. Let her see my face for the first time since dinner.

Let her see that I'd been waiting.
That this was wanted.
That every careful coincidence today had been anything but.

"Well?" I asked, one eyebrow lifting. "Are you going to stand in my doorway all night? Or are you going to come in and close the door behind you?"

The silence stretched like silk.

Then she stepped inside.

The door clicked shut.

And I smiled like a woman whose trap had sprung exactly as designed.

"Come here," I said.

She did.