She glances from his eyes, to his mouth, and back again. A slight smile tugs at her lips.

Is there a right or wrong answer?

"Y'don't hafta go. If y'wanna stay."

She's toeing the edge of shyness. She's comfortable with where they stand; this connection, this attraction, just seeing where things go. In theory, anyhow. In practice, he's the first man she's taken to her bed in nearly three years, and the only man she's done so with no regard to a proper future. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing and scare him off.

"I reckon you're already here, an' neither of us would hafta change again ... "