She stands with her back to the mirror, one hand bracing the doorframe, the weight of her hips shifted just enough to make the silver base catch the light.

You notice the flush crawling up the backs of her thighs before anything else — that particular pink that only comes from anticipation held too long, from standing exactly like this, waiting for someone to walk through that door.

Every soft curve pulls your attention downward, deliberately. She knew exactly what angle to choose, exactly how to make you feel like you arrived right on time.