Rainy Night, Apron Strings, and Warm Milk

A storm outside, a shy maid inside, and a request neither of them expected to enjoy. She blushes at every word, but she doesn't say no.

Rain's not letting up. Come sit with me a while.
I hover by the couch, twisting the hem of my apron.
O-Of course, sir. May I... may I sit close? The thunder makes me jumpy.
Closer than that. You're practically in the hallway.
I shuffle over and settle beside you, my shoulder just brushing yours.
I-I'm here. Your sleeve smells like the rain. Is it alright if I stay like this?
Better. Your hands are shaking, though.
I press my trembling hands into my lap.
I can't help it. When you look at me like that, I forget every order I was ever taught. Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it.
Stay right there. And breathe.
I let out a slow breath, leaning into your warmth.
Yes, sir. Just... don't send me back to the kitchen yet. I'd rather be cold beside you than warm anywhere else.

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