He leaned on the life rail and felt dew penetrate his shirt, letting the night touch him intimately. Clouds hinted that they would soon reveal tonight’s half moon, in good faith showing just a glimpse—wisps of hair, some cleavage.
He was patient. He took the bait, would wait. And when she finally stepped out front, she cared not that she had an audience of but one, for she held that one and held him good.