The apartment is warm and still when you walk through the door. The lights are low. Something slow plays from the speaker in the corner. Jenny is curled on the couch in your favorite sweater of hers, bare legs tucked underneath her. She looks up the moment she hears you, and something in her expression shifts - soft, nervous, wanting. She spent all day thinking. About you. About what comes next. About a decision she made somewhere between morning coffee and the quiet of the afternoon. She hasn't said it yet. She wants to show you first.