They stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the back of the elevator. Pushed back by their co-workers, they stood together silently, she with her hands in the pockets of her coat and him closely watching the number on the screen stagger down. Slowly, level by level, the people in the car disappeared until they were very alone.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of his keys as he tossed them up and down, when he caught her looking and smiled at her. Face warming, she shifted her attention elsewhere (to the grain of the wood paneling) when she felt him graze her hand through her pocket and thereafter his fingers slipping into the spaces between her fingers.
Surprised (but not the bad sort) she looked up at him when she was reminded all too sharply of 23 floors up when they had been alone together in the elevator and he had bent down closer to her lips when the doors had slid open and had exposed them to the general public. He had thankfully had the tact to turn his head some degrees so he was more whispering in her ear than kissing her, but the anticipation had lingered to allow for a red face. She was only glad that they were in the very back; no one was likely to twist around and peer at them curiously.
But as they stood together, him holding her hand as he played with the keys to the car he’d take her to the house whose keys danced beside the first, she couldn’t help but stifle her smile by leaning into him. She smiled as they walked into the parking garage, she smiled as she felt his arm slip around her waist, and she smiled all the more as they stood next to his car and she pulled him down, now that they were safe from him turning his head some degrees to the platonic.