The dressing room latch clicked and jammed.
“Old building,” she said, not sounding concerned at all.
We stood facing the mirror — too close, reflections giving us away.
“We’ll be a minute,” I said.
“No rush,” she replied.
Her hands smoothed my jacket shoulders — once — twice — unnecessary but careful.
“You clean up well,” she added softly.
“You’re very calm for being stuck.”
She met my eyes in the mirror.
“I’m exactly where I intended to be.”
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