She stands in the doorway wearing those charcoal yoga pants like a second skin, the fabric pulling tight across every curve as she shifts her weight to one hip.

You watch her scan the room, fingertips grazing the doorframe, completely unbothered by the way your eyes trace the lines of her body from waist to thigh.

She tilts her head, lips parting just slightly, and asks again about somewhere to sit — but the way she's looking at you makes it clear the chair was never really the point.