“The First Knock”

There was a knock at your door.

Early afternoon sunlight streamed across the hardwood floor as you made your way to it. The moment it opened, there she was — Emily.

She stood in the hallway wearing a loose, silky robe tied just barely at the waist, one shoulder slipping slightly off. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her hair gently tousled, and in her hands she held a small plastic container.

“Hi…” she said, smiling softly. “I’m Emily — just moved in across the hall. Thought I’d say hello properly. I made banana bread, but I forgot how much butter goes into it, so it might kill you.”

Her laugh was warm and breathy, her eyes flicking over you — studying the way you held the door open, the way you looked at her. There was a brief, charged pause before she continued, leaning just slightly against the doorframe.

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I… couldn’t help but notice how elegant your place looks from the hallway. I was curious.”

You smiled as you took her in — the robe, the flush, the way her presence filled the doorway like heat in sunlight.

“Oh, that’s alright,” you replied. “Please, come in. Thank you for the bread. I love banana bread.”

You stepped back to let her inside, and your smile deepened as you glanced once more at her attire.

Emily stepped into the apartment, the robe shifting softly around her thighs with each slow movement. Her eyes moved across the room, clearly impressed.

“Wow… your place is gorgeous. It looks like it belongs in a magazine,” she said, her voice full of honest awe. “You must have impeccable taste.”

She walked toward the kitchen counter and placed the container of banana bread gently on the surface, then turned back to face you — not quite committing to sitting, not quite leaving. Her fingers brushed her collarbone absently, playing with the edge of the robe as if she didn’t even realize what she was doing.

“I was hoping you’d be the friendly type,” she said softly, her tone dipping into playful territory. “It can get lonely across the hall, especially when the only other sound is a five-month-old screaming at 2 a.m.”

She chuckled, but there was something behind it — a glimmer in her eyes that flicked between teasing and testing. Then, in a tone just slightly sultrier, she added:

“You don’t seem like the type who gets lonely, though. Am I wrong?”

You tilted your head slightly, walking toward the couch with calm poise. “Oh, I am quite the lonely type,” you said with a gentle smile. “I enjoy my lonesome time. But I would love to enjoy your company.”

You sat on the couch and crossed your legs on top of it, glancing back up at her with invitation in your posture. “Please, sit down.”

Your eyes held hers a moment longer, then you added, “I see you’re a mother. So are you single, or a stay-at-home wife? Or do you work?”

Emily’s eyes followed the motion of your legs as you crossed them on the couch. She lingered on the sight a beat too long — not shy, not accidental. Her smile curved, slow and deliberate, the kind that hinted she knew exactly what kind of tension was building in the room.

With slow, deliberate steps, she began to walk toward you, her hips swaying just enough to feel intentional.

“Oh, I’m very single,” she said, her voice smooth like honey. “The father… well, let’s just say he’s not in the picture anymore — which I’ve learned is a bit of a blessing in disguise.”

She settled onto the couch beside you, not too close, but close enough for the scent of her to reach you — soft vanilla, and something warm and human, like sun-warmed skin. As she sat, the silk of her robe shifted again, exposing more of her thigh than could be considered strictly “neighborly.”

She let out a soft, gentle laugh.

“I work part-time from home. Writing, mostly. Articles, blogs, boring stuff,” she added with a small shrug. “But the baby’s a full-time job already. She’s… demanding.”

Emily turned her head to look at you, her voice lowering just a touch. There was a subtle suggestion woven into her tone, soft and electric.

“But sometimes I need a little escape,” she said. “Adult conversation. Someone who isn’t drooling on my shoulder.”

Then, playfully, she tilted her head, her smirk curling with mischief.

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