It was not how she had imagined it. Not that she had spent a lot of time imagining it. But she had always thought that if they were ever to break this stalemate, the propulsion forward would be something big. Some emergency or life-threatening situation that would push them together in a flurry of hungry lips and desperate hands. She envisioned passion and hunger.
She did not envision a quiet evening on her couch looking over suppositions where he would lean forward ever so slightly and press his lips softly against hers, almost in a whisper. She did not imagine that when he withdrew he would look up at her through eyelashes, scared and unsure of her response.