It happens like this. A glance lasts longer than expected. A hand finds the small of your back and you don’t pull away. His hand tugs at yours and warms you from the tips of your fingertips to the pit of your stomach, like good whisky when it first meets your mouth. You’re scared, but you’re exhilarated too, standing on the precipice between a playful exchange and something altogether different. You look away, afraid he’ll kiss you and disappointed that he hasn’t. You say that you’re leaving, but you’re taking your sweet time and that’s when you know you’ve found it. It’s here in the room, somewhere in his arms, and you aren’t quite ready to step outside.