The Draft Post

David's thumb rests on the send button of the draft post, the kneeling photo of Willow glowing on the screen. He tilts the phone so she can see it, then murmurs, 'One tap, and everyone at this table knows who you are.' Willow's hand tightens on his thigh, her breath shallow, as he slides his other hand up her waist. He doesn't tap—yet—but he sets the phone in her lap, the screen still live, and says, 'Show me how much you want me to keep it private.'