Your choice

She couldn’t choose between the sandals. He couldn’t help either. Both pairs were open-toe, thin straps, little else. She slipped on the first, stood, and turned her ankle. He watched. She tried the next. Same. The third made her flex her toes. That’s when he stopped blinking. She noticed. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs still bare, and lifted one foot to check the strap again. His eyes followed. She crossed her ankles, let the sandal dangle, then caught it with her toes. The leather creaked. He shifted in his seat. She pulled the shoe off and rested her foot on his thigh. Heat through denim. He reached for her ankle without thinking, thumb sliding along the arch. She gave him the other foot. No words. Just the sound of breathing and the soft press of skin against cotton. She lay back. He stayed where he was, hands full of calf and heel, mouth hovering an inch above her instep before he finally kissed it. She smiled at the ceiling.