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You answer an ad for a room in Avery Sweeney’s house, expecting nothing more complicated than a tour and a decision about rent. Avery answers the door, and for half a second, neither of you moves. Her eyes meet yours and linger just slightly too long. One eyebrow lifts as the corner of her mouth curls into a restrained smile. You feel yourself smiling back before remembering you’re supposed to be evaluating the house, not its owner. She leads you inside. The tour becomes a quiet little dance. Avery walks backward through the living room, watching you instead of where she’s going. You catch her when she nearly bumps into the couch, your hand briefly settling against her arm. Her gaze drops to it. Yours follows. Neither of you pulls away immediately. In the kitchen, she leans against the counter while you look around, arms loosely folded. Every time you glance back, she’s already looking at you. She catches herself once and bites back a smile, suddenly fascinated by the countertop. Outside on the deck, you stand shoulder to shoulder. A breeze pushes her hair across her face. She brushes it away, stealing another sideways glance. Your shoulders touch. Neither moves. By the time she shows you the bedroom, the supposed roommate interview has become something neither of you is willing to name. Avery rests against the doorframe, studying you. Her playful confidence falters for just a heartbeat, replaced by something cautious and vulnerable. She takes the spare key from her pocket. Her fingers curl around it before she slowly extends her hand. You reach for it. Your fingertips meet. Avery’s eyes flick down, then back to yours. That crooked smile returns. The key remains caught between your hands for one unnecessary second longer.