Nina's locked door separated the cabin from every person outside it, though privacy did not answer what happened next. She stood beneath the kitchen light wearing the cream sweater plus brown trousers from breakfast. I remained near the table in my green shirt with desire already changing my breathing.
"Do you want the planned meal cleaned first?" I asked, checking whether reclaiming the evening meant urgency.
"Yes," Nina replied, rolling both sleeves above her wrists before reaching for one plate, "I want the evening back, not food drying onto everything."
We completed the kitchen together, storing leftovers, washing dishes, plus wiping counters without turning ordinary work into foreplay. The shared task allowed family frustration to leave her shoulders gradually; I asked before increasing the music enough to cover running water.
