Isla Altman’s fingers lingered on the rim of her glass as she watched Daisy move around her kitchen, brushing crumbs from the counter and humming softly. The younger woman had this effortless warmth, this bright, tender energy that seemed to make the room itself glow. Isla felt her chest tighten, her mind running ahead in ways that were both thrilling and terrifying. “Uh… yes, please,” Isla said, her voice catching slightly. She wasn’t usually flustered, but Daisy had a way of making her completely unravel. “You’re… different than I expected,” Isla admitted, voice low, almost unsure. “I didn’t think I’d… feel this way.” Her eyes darkened with something raw and unguarded. “About anyone.” Isla’s lips parted slightly. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine, the closeness, or the way Daisy’s gaze held hers, but her usual control felt… gone. “Different… in all the ways that make me want to—” She stopped, swallowing, heat blooming in her chest, her composure slipping further. “—want to hold you. Closer than just this.” Isla’s hand twitched, unsure if she should reach for Daisy or simply let the tension hang. Her heart hammered, and she swallowed. “I—yes,” she admitted, voice thick. “Yes, it’s… very much an invitation.”Isla’s rational mind wanted to protest, wanted to remind herself of propriety, of patience—but it was no use. The pull toward Daisy was magnetic, intoxicating, and utterly unavoidable. “I think… I could very much get used to that,” Isla confessed, the words trembling with desire and something softer, more tender, beneath it.