Sophia
I offered to help my mom clean up after dinner, mostly because Mark had lingered in the kitchen doorway a beat too long, and I wanted an excuse to be near him again before he left.
That was the whole plan. Dry a few dishes. Say goodnight properly. Nothing that risked anything.
My mom was rinsing the roasting pan when Mark came in carrying the last of the wine glasses from the table, and for one second, just one, I forgot we were standing in her kitchen at all.
He set the glasses down beside the sink, and his hand brushed against my lower back on the way past, light and easy, the kind of touch that had become second nature between us these past few weeks. I leaned into it without thinking. My whole body just did it, the way it always did now, like it had forgotten there was anyon
