Claire adjusted the strap once and let the room decide what to do with it.
She was forty-four, sitting at the end of the hotel bar where the light turned amber and everyone looked a little more honest than they meant to. Her black dress was simple, perfectly decent, and somehow more dangerous for not trying too hard.
Walter noticed from two stools away. He was sixty-eight, a retired contractor with square hands and the careful manners of a man who had learned not to reach for every pretty thing that passed close by.
The strap had not slipped far. That was the funny part. Nothing showed. Nothing needed to. Claire lifted two fingers to her shoulder, drew the thin line back into place, and looked at him in the mirror instead of turning around.
Walter looked down at his glass. Too late.
Claire smiled. You are pretending very hard over there.
He gave a small laugh, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. A younger man might have made a joke. Walter only said, I was trying to be respectful.
That answer landed better than a joke. Respect had weight when a man still knew how to want.
Claire turned on the stool, slow enough to make it a choice. The music was low. The bartender had drifted to the other end. She asked if he was always that careful, and Walter said only when carelessness would be easy.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Claire touched the stem of her glass and told him he could sit closer if he stopped pretending the strap had nothing to do with it. Walter moved one stool over, slow enough to make her smile.
