He opened his mouth, probably to deny it, then closed it. Rain hammered the window. A branch scraped the glass.
“It’s been a year and a half.”
“You were. Your father is gone.” She let the weight of that settle. “And I’m not asking for a wedding, Mark. I’m asking if you want to stop pretending, just for one night, that this is only grief keeping us in the same room.” stepmom makes the first move
Here’s a draft of a short story exploring that premise. He opened his mouth, probably to deny it, then closed it
“One move,” she said. “That’s all this is. Your turn to decide what happens next.” He opened his mouth
“You’re not a monster.”