He told me to stop by and pick up the charger I’d left at his place.
He didn’t mention he wouldn’t be home.
She opened the door wearing my old college hoodie — the one I lost months ago — sleeves rolled, legs bare, expression amused.
“Oh good,” she smiled. “You came yourself.”
“Is he here?”
“No,” she said. “But I hoped you would be.”
I stepped inside automatically. The place smelled like vanilla and heat.
“You’ve been working out,” she added, circling once like she was confirming evidence. “It shows.”
“You borrowed my hoodie.”
“You left it,” she corrected. “I kept it.”
She tugged lightly on the drawstring — pulling me half a step closer with it.
“You always were the shy one,” she said quietly. “I wondered if that ever changed.”
Her hand stayed on the string.
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