Tessa did not plan the strap. That was what she told herself at first. The hallway outside the lounge was warm, the music was too loud, and the thin dress had a habit of moving when she laughed.
But she did not fix it right away. That was the honest part. At thirty-two, she knew the difference between an accident and a moment worth letting breathe.
The man beside the framed poster noticed. His name was Grant, and he had the lined face of someone who had spent years learning when not to speak. Tessa liked that more than she expected.
You dropped something, he said. Not your eyes, though. The line should have been ridiculous. Somehow it was not, because he said it quietly and looked embarrassed by his own nerve.
Tessa slid the strap back into place. Slowly, but not like a performance. More like punctuation. Grant looked away just enough to be decent, and that was the thing that kept her there.
She asked if he always made jokes when he was nervous. He said only when the woman was out of his league and knew it. That answer was better. Plain. A little bruised around the edges.
The lounge door opened behind them, spilling light across the carpet. Tessa could have gone back inside. Instead she stayed in the hall, one shoulder against the wall, watching Grant decide whether to keep hiding behind manners.
When he asked if she wanted another drink, she said yes, but not in there. The strap had caught his attention. His restraint had kept it.
Outside, the night air cooled the heat in her face. Grant offered his jacket without making a speech. Tessa took it, not because she was cold, but because she wanted to see how he looked when she accepted something from him.
