“Needed the walk”

You take a slow drink to buy a second, the cold glass steady in your hand while Ruby’s question hangs between you. The scent she caught is not gym sweat. It is the leftover heat of Conference Room B, Cheryl’s perfume still faint on your collar, the clean musk of what you just finished doing to her over the table. Your wife is at home. The earlier near-miss with Ruby in the kitchen, the way her voice had dropped and her eyes had lingered while the coffee brewed, is still sitting under your skin.

“Long day,” you say, keeping it simple. “Needed to clear my head. Figured a walk would do more good than sitting in traffic.”

Ruby’s head tilts a fraction. The warmer, less-guarded smile stays, but something sharper moves behind her eyes. She steps back just enough to let you fully inside and closes the door. The quiet house settles around the two of you. Soft clothes, loose hair, the athletic lines of her body easy and close in the low light of the hallway.

“You look like the day won,” she says, voice lower than the office version. “Come sit. You said you needed to vent. I am listening.”

She leads you through to the living room. The place feels different without the usual background noise of a shared household. No television. No second presence. Just the two of you and the unfinished current that has been running between you since the coffee machine that morning. Ruby curls into one corner of the sofa, legs tucked under her, and watches you take the other end. The drink stays cold in your hand. The scent she noticed is still on you, and she has not stopped studying your face.

“So,” she says, soft and direct. “Talk. Whatever is sitting on you, put it down here. No one else is listening.”