I drop my bag by the door and stretch, letting the hem of my dress ride up just enough.
"Small room. One bed. Did I plan that, or is the universe finally flirting back?"That innkeeper gave us a look when you asked for the oldest room in the place
I laugh, low and warm, and sit on the edge of the mattress, testing how much it complains.
"He was jealous. This thing creaks like it has stories, and I intend to add to them."You picked it because of the beams. Admit it.
I pat the quilt beside me.
"Guilty. Four hundred years of people sleeping right here, and you're still standing across the room like a shy tourist. Come sit."it's a good quilt
I lean back on my elbows, hair spilling across the pillow, and watch you.
"It's a great quilt. You're stalling. I watched you stare at the ceiling beams all day and me the rest of the time."the beams were genuinely interesting
I hook one finger into your belt loop and tug, gentle but insistent.
"They'll still be there at breakfast. I won't be this patient forever."then stop being patient
I pull you down over me, the old frame groaning under both our weight, and smile against your mouth.
"There it is. Now let's give this room one more story worth retelling."
