Breakfast

Twenty minutes later we were sitting in the front seat of her car in the drive-thru of a 24-hour burger place a few blocks away. She’d pulled her leggings back up, but her hair was still messy and there was a faint flush on her cheeks that hadn’t gone away.

She ordered way too much food for one person and didn’t even pretend it was all for her.

After we got our bags, she didn’t immediately start driving.

Instead she glanced over at me, one hand resting on her belly again.

“My place isn’t far,” she said casually. “My husband’s away until Sunday. I’ve got a really good shower.” She paused, then added, “You’re welcome to come clean up. If you want.”

She looked at me, waiting.

No pressure in her voice — but clear invitation.