The morning crowd had thinned by the time I came back from my walk. The market was starting to quiet, the merchants settling into slower midday business. I'd spent the last hour moving through the village, letting this new body soak into the world — catching the glances I drew, watching how people's eyes lingered.
But I wasn't looking for strangers today.
I pushed the inn's door open, and the familiar warmth rolled over me — the scent of baking bread, the faint tang of brewing coffee, and underneath it all, the smell of polished wood and sun-warmed air.
She was behind the counter again, this time standing over an open ledger, a quill in her hand. She glanced up as I entered, and I saw that flicker in her eyes — recognition, followed by something softer.
"Back so soon?" she asked, setting the quill down.
"Couldn't stay away," I said, letting Desire Tongue ride just under my words.
Her lips curved faintly, but she didn't break eye contact. "You've been out walking?"
"Getting to know the place," I said, moving toward the counter. "It's different here."
She rested her hands on the wood, leaning just slightly forward. "Different how?"
I let my gaze hold hers for a beat longer than polite. "Cleaner. Slower. People look at you when you pass."
That earned a faint smile. "Sometimes that's not a good thing."
"Depends on who's doing the looking," I said, and watched the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
[Target engagement level: moderate. Recommendation — close distance.]
I moved to the end of the counter, close enough that the warm scent of her skin mixed with the room's air. She was dressed simply — a cream blouse and a dark skirt — but the way she wore them said more than expensive clothes could.
"You run this place alone?" I asked.
She nodded. "Since my husband passed." There was no tremor in her voice, no sign of grief — just the statement of a fact that had settled long ago.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
Her eyes searched mine for a moment, and something eased in her shoulders. "It was years ago."
Still, I let my hand brush hers as I reached for the mug she'd set down. Desire Touch flowed instantly — that subtle warmth threading between us. Her breath caught, and she pulled back just half a beat slower than before.
"Have you decided how long you're staying?" she asked, recovering quickly.
"That depends," I said, sipping from the mug. "On whether I have a reason to."
Her gaze sharpened, reading me, weighing me. "And do you?"
"Not yet," I said. "But I might."
She stepped away to fetch something from under the counter, and I let my eyes follow her — not in a crude, obvious way, but with the kind of attention that people feel even when they can't see it.
When she straightened, she was holding a small plate of buttered bread and fruit. "On the house," she said.
I took it, my fingers brushing hers again. This time, she didn't pull away immediately — her hand lingered just a moment before she let go.
[Desire Points earned: 1. Cumulative total: 3.]
It wasn't the number that mattered. It was the fact that she was leaning in without realizing it.
"You've got good hands," I said casually, tearing a piece of bread.
Her brows lifted slightly. "Hands?"
"Steady," I said, glancing at them. "Confident. You can tell a lot about a person by their hands."
She tilted her head, curiosity slipping into her expression. "And what do mine tell you?"
"That you take care of what's yours," I said. "And you don't let go of it easily."
Her lips curved slowly, and she looked away — but I caught the faintest color in her cheeks.
[Recommendation: disengage momentarily to allow target to dwell on interaction.]
I finished the bread, set the plate down, and pushed back from the counter. "Thanks for this," I said. "I'll see you later."
"Going somewhere?" she asked.
"Exploring," I said. "But I'll be back."
Her eyes followed me to the door, and I didn't need the system to tell me she was watching even after it closed behind me.
I spent the next couple of hours outside the inn, walking the quieter parts of the village, but my thoughts kept circling back to her. The way her breath hitched at the smallest touch. The shift in her voice when she asked if I was staying.
She was the perfect first step — approachable, with no obvious threats tied to her, but confident enough to make the win worth something.
By late afternoon, I was back.
The light was softer now, spilling in through the front windows. She was alone in the room, wiping down the tables. Her blouse sleeves were rolled up, exposing her forearms, and there was a faint sheen of sweat from the day's work.
"You work too hard," I said, stepping inside.
She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. "Someone has to."
"Maybe someone doesn't," I said. "Maybe you just like keeping busy."
"And what would you know about that?"
I moved closer, stopping a step away. "I know the look of someone who doesn't like being still."
Her eyes held mine for a long beat, and I saw the spark there — curiosity, interest, maybe a little challenge.
She turned back to the table, running the cloth over the wood. "You're an odd one."
"Better than being forgettable."
That earned me another glance, this one slower, as if she was taking me in properly now.
I reached for the cloth in her hand, letting my fingers cover hers as I took it. Desire Touch pulsed through the contact, and this time, I felt the smallest shift — her fingers tightening briefly before she let go.
"I can finish that," I said.
She didn't argue. She just watched me for a moment before stepping back.
[Target's attraction threshold approaching trigger point.]
I finished wiping the table, set the cloth aside, and straightened. She was still watching, her lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak but thought better of it.
"You should let someone help you more often," I said.
Her smile was faint but genuine now. "Maybe I will."
When I stepped back toward the counter, she didn't move away. The space between us was close enough that the air felt warmer.
"Tell me something," I said quietly.
"What?"
"Why haven't you remarried?"
She blinked at that, surprise flashing across her face. Then she laughed softly, shaking her head. "That's a bit forward."
"I'm not here to waste time," I said. "And neither are you."
Her eyes searched mine again, and for the first time, I saw the flicker of something else — not just interest, but the thought of possibility.
[Desire Points earned: 2. Cumulative total: 5.]
I left her there with that thought, walking upstairs without another word. Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is walk away when they want you to stay.
Tomorrow, the game would move forward.