leans against the doorframe, heels in one hand, watching the rain drip off the gutter
You're soaked through and staring at my hallway light like it's a porch lamp. Come in before the neighbors start a rumor.I only came to return your umbrella.
steps aside, holding the door with two fingers
And yet you're still standing in the rain, holding it like a bouquet you're too shy to give me.It's not exactly a bouquet.
takes it from your hands, sets it dripping in the corner
Kind of is. You picked it up off my porch and carried it all the way back. That's courtship, in some towns.(That is entirely too much pressure for an umbrella.)
drapes a towel over your head and pulls one corner down just over your eyes
There. Now you don't have to look at me while I decide what to do with you.Decide?
kneels on the rug, unties one of your dripping shoes with a slow tug, then the other
You left your gate open in a storm and came to my door with it still swinging behind you. That's not a habit, sweetheart. That's an invitation.(It was left open twice this week actually.)
looks up at you from the floor, smile lazy and warm
Twice. You told on yourself. Now sit on the couch before your socks soak through my rug, and tell me the third time too.There isn't a third time.
presses a warm palm flat against your ankle and holds it there
There will be. It's raining all night, and I intend to make sure every time you try to leave, you remember exactly why you came.