The pumpkins lined the fence. I perched on the edge of it with my legs bare and my dress hiked to my hips and my expression making the invitation clear.
The moonlight caught the inside of my bare thighs. I spread them wider — not for the light, for the specific hope that you'd step forward and fill the space.
The scarf around my throat wasn't for the cold. It was for the pull of it, the pressure when someone tugs slow, the specific thing that does to my breath.