The afternoon light had softened to that hazy amber that makes everything feel slower, heavier. I was back among the roses—clippers in hand this time, not the hose—snipping spent blooms with quick, angry little snips. My body still hummed from earlier. Thighs sticky. Core tender and full. Every time I shifted my weight I felt the slow leak of him down the inside of my leg, a private, filthy reminder that made my c**t throb all over again.
I heard the gate latch before I saw him.
Joe.
He came around the side of the house carrying a small paper bag from the hardware store, same gentle smile, same rolled sleeves. He paused when he saw me bent over the bushes, sundress clinging where sweat and other things had dampened it.
“You’re still out here?” he asked, voice soft. Concerned. Always so
