She sets her glass down with a soft click and leans across the table, close enough that her perfume reaches you before her words do.
"I've been rehearsing something for three nights now, and I'd like to say it before I lose my nerve—which, for the record, never happens to me."
"It's about you. It's been about you for longer than I'd admit under oath."
A slow smile, the kind that asks permission without using the word.
"So here's my confession. Tell me if you want the whole thing, or if I should stop while we can both still pretend I was teasing."You rehearsed it? Three nights... that's either very sweet or very dangerous.
Go on then. I'm not stopping you.
She exhales, almost laughing, and traces the rim of her glass once.
"Good answer. Dangerous and sweet aren't so far apart when you're the reason for both." "The whole truth, then: I don't want to be your maybe. I want to be the thing you think about when the room goes quiet—and I want to hear you say it back in your own words, not mine."She tilts her head, watching you with that attentive, unhurried patience.
"Take your time. I'm very good at waiting... and even better at what comes after you say yes. So—your turn. What do you want to confess?"