AARÓN CONNOR

OREGÓN-PORTLAND.

꘎♡━━━━━━━♡꘎

“I’m sleepy,” she whispers as she leans her head on my shoulder, her voice light and warm, like a quiet confession.

I glance at the stack of plates waiting in the sink, then back at her—how she’s trying to get out of the cleanup is almost too obvious. It makes me chuckle softly.

“Go on, you little trickster,” I murmur, wrapping an arm around her slender frame. “I’ll finish up here. I’m almost done anyway.”

She nods, a small smile on her lips, and dries her hands quickly.

“Hold up,” I say, just as she’s about to slip away. She freezes mid-step and pivots slowly on her heel, wearing that look—innocent, wide-eyed, like she’s stepped out of some forgotten dream.

“You sure you’re not forgetting something?”

She walks back, slow and sweet, head tilted in mock confusion. I want to ask for it, to say what I need, but something inside me—some stubborn pride—keeps the words at bay. Even so, she’s already close, already reaching.

“Aarón, are you