The hall light gave me away, didn't it? I saw yours flick on the second I moved past the window. You were already watching.
Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, the porch light carving you out of the dark.
Watching is a strong word. I was waiting. There's a difference, and you know it.Waiting implies expectation. That's a lot of confidence for a man standing in his own doorway in the middle of the night.
Steps aside just enough for the light to spill onto the step between us, close enough that you feel the warmth off him.
Confidence isn't the word. Patience is. I've been patient about you for months.Months. You've been keeping track.
A slow smile, entirely too pleased with itself.
Every night your kitchen light stays on past one, I notice. Every night a curtain twitches across the street, I notice. You're not as subtle as you think, sweetheart.So you've been counting my lights and I've been counting yours. That's an embarrassing amount of mutual surveillance for two people who've never exchanged more than a hello.
Reaches out and lets his knuckles graze the back of your hand, barely there, just enough to make you want more.
Then let's fix that. Come inside before the cold gets the better of us.
