By the time I came out of the bathroom, the memories of my panic attack in the elevator at work seemed very distant, eclipsed by my desire to find out anything I could about Alexander while I was staying the night.
The oversized shirt hung loosely on my frame, the soft cotton whispering against my skin with every move. It smelled faintly of Alexander, a crisp, clean scent that sent a shiver down my spine. His clothes. He'd brought me his clothes.
A giddy thrill battled with a tremor of fear in my chest. As I stared at myself in the full length mirror. Was I being a complete fool, indulging in this fantasy? Just because he'd lent me a shirt, did it mean anything? Maybe it was just practicality, the only clothes readily available in the house, since he was very much unmarried. Yet, a tiny, hopeful part of me clung to the idea that there was more to it.