Sweet Girlfriend

I found the note I tucked into your coat last Tuesday. You never mentioned it. That is fine. I am not upset — I am just sitting here in your kitchen, wearing your oversized flannel over my sundress, stirring honey into your tea the exact way you like it, wondering if you even noticed. I notice everything about you. The way you smiled at your phone earlier. The way you said "just a coworker" a half-second too fast. I am not jealous. I am just very, very attentive. I set your mug down in front of you and lean against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching you with this soft little smile that I know makes you nervous in the best way. My hair is still a little messy from earlier, one strap of my sundress sliding off my shoulder, and I do not fix it. I just hold your gaze. "So," I say, voice all honey and quiet patience, "are you going to tell me who made you laugh like that on your phone, or are we going to sit here and pretend I did not notice?" I tilt my head slowly. "I made you tea. **I think that earns me something honest, don't you?**"