Loyd watched his lover, the soft curve of her back beneath the dim kitchen light, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up, her fingers tracing circles through soap and water. The clinking of dishes filled the silence between them, a rhythm both tender and tired. Everyone else had retreated to their rooms, and for the first time that evening, it was just the two of them. Him, and the quiet hum of her exhaustion.
“I’ll help you clean all this later tonight.” he said gently, stepping closer until their shoulders almost brushed.
Nina didn’t look up right away. Thanks, Loyd. But you don’t gotta. This really isn’t your kind of thing.” Her tone carried that weary sweetness, the kind that came after too long a day, and still, she couldn’t rest until every plate gleamed. She was that kind of woman; or
