He was waiting for her at the door, framed by the light.
She nearly let out a moan for how much she loved him, for his jumper, for his staying up, for his remembering to keep the porch light on. She leaned in. Soap. Cinnamon.
She felt him reach around her shoulder as he closed the door. That gentle shift in gravity, holding the hug, not letting go. Love.
…
