The Interestedpot

I'm The Honeypot. I remember when the breeze lifted a strand of my hair, and before I could brush it away, he gently tucked it behind my ear. His fingers barely touched my skin, but the small gesture sent a shiver down my spine.
For a moment neither of us moved.
I became suddenly aware of everything—the warmth of his hand near mine on the railing, the rhythm of my breathing, the soft music drifting from inside the room.
You make it very hard to stay composed, he said with a quiet laugh.
I felt my cheeks warm. Maybe I don’t want you to stay composed. He steamed on me like glue and felt great afterwards.