Next, they went to a small alterations shop nearby, a modest, open-front storefront with a sewing machine humming in the back, measuring tapes hanging on the wall, and racks of pinned garments waiting for finishing touches.
Giselle had bought the maroon wrap dress off the rack but needed it tailored for a perfect fit, especially around the bust, waist, and hips for the Thanksgiving gathering.
The older tailor looked up from his work and smiled. "For accurate measurements, ma'am, it's best if your husband helps hold the tape. Makes it easier for the intimate spots."
Giselle's cheeks flushed. She didn't correct the assumption that Arahan was her husband. Instead, she turned to him, eyes meeting him with a mix of shyness and quiet boldness.
"Arahan… could you help? Just hold the tape and read the numbers to him?"
Arahan paused for a moment, reading the look in her eyes, then nodded quietly.
"Of course. Whatever you need."
The tailor handed him the measuring tape. They stepped into a semi-private corner of the shop, partially screened from the main walkway. Giselle stood straight and lifted her arms slightly, her white crop top riding up to fully expose her toned midriff.
Arahan stood close. First, he measured her shoulders, his breath warm near her ear as he stretched the tape across her back. Then her waist: he wrapped the tape around her bare midriff, his fingers lightly brushing her warm skin. The touch was careful, but the closeness sent heat racing through both of them.
For the bust measurement, Giselle turned slightly toward him. Arahan passed the tape around her, under her arms and across the fullest part of her breasts. His knuckles grazed the soft curves through the thin fabric of her crop top as he adjusted the tape. She inhaled sharply, her nipples hardening instantly from the contact and the thrill of it being him.
Arahan's hands trembled just slightly. He read the numbers in a low, roughened voice.
"Thirty-four… under-bust thirty," he said steadily, eyes locked on hers a second longer than necessary.
Giselle's breath came quicker. She felt exposed, desired, and intensely alive in a way she hadn't felt in months. The tailor jotted everything down and promised the dress would be ready in two days.
As they left the shop, bags in hand, the air between them crackled with tension. Giselle walked closer to Arahan than before, her arm occasionally brushing his.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything today."
Arahan looked down at her and nodded. "Anytime, Giselle."
Shopping done, the grocery bags tied securely to the rear carrier, they walked back to the bike. The afternoon sun had softened, but the warmth of the day still lingered.
Giselle swung her leg over the seat and settled astride behind him, even closer than on the way there. She slid forward until her thighs hugged his hips tightly, her full breasts pressed firmly against his broad back, bare midriff brushing the small of his back against his t-shirt.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, hands resting low on his stomach, fingers splayed in a way that felt natural now, almost possessive.
As Arahan started the bike and pulled onto the road, every bump and curve became part of her private fantasy.
Each jolt pushed her body harder against his, her nipples hardening from the friction, her thighs clenching around him, the heat building between her legs with every press.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself imagine more, his hands reaching back to grip her thighs, pulling her tighter, finding a quiet spot and taking her right there.
The thought made her breath hitch against his neck, her fingers flexing against his stomach.
The familiar suburban streets came into view too soon. She wished the ride would stretch on forever.
Arahan slowed to a stop in front of her house. She lingered for a second before sliding off, reluctant to break the contact.
"Thank you so much, Arahan," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "For today… everything. Come inside for a bit? I'll make some tea."
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, Giselle. Just for a little while."
---
She led him through the front porch into the living room. Her mother-in-law was napping in the back bedroom, so the house was quiet. Giselle gestured for him to sit on the couch, then disappeared into the kitchen to prepare tea.
It took a few minutes, boiling water, adding milk, cardamom, and sugar, then straining it into two mugs. While the tea steeped, she called out lightly, "Arahan, it'll be ready soon. Just a minute."
But Arahan didn't stay seated. Curiosity drew him to follow her quietly to the kitchen doorway. He leaned against the frame, watching her move around the small space: stirring the pot, reaching for mugs, the gentle sway of her hips in the floral skirt.
She turned and saw him there. Instead of surprise, she smiled shyly.
"You didn't have to come in here," she said, but her tone was warm and welcoming.
"I thought you might need help," he replied, stepping closer. "Or just… company."
They talked while the tea finished. Simple things at first, Thanksgiving preparations, neighborhood gossip, but the conversation slowly turned more personal.
"I feel so lonely sometimes," Giselle admitted quietly, stirring the tea. "Mom is here, but… it's not the same. The house feels empty. Days go by, and no one really talks to me like… like today."
Arahan nodded, his voice gentle. "I understand, Giselle. It must be really hard with him so far away."
She looked down at the pot, then back at him. "Yes. Very hard."
The tea was ready. She poured it into two mugs, added a few cookies on a plate, and carried everything out to the living room. They sat side by side on the couch, drinking in comfortable silence for a minute.
Arahan finished his tea and set the mug down.
"If you ever feel lonely again," he said, looking straight at her, "just call or text me. Anytime. I'm not far."
Giselle met his gaze, her heart fluttering. She nodded slowly.
"I will. Thank you, Arahan."
He stood up after a moment, brushing his hands on his jeans.
"I should go now. It's getting late."
She walked him out to the porch, watching as he started the bike. Before he left, she spoke again.
"Really… thank you. For today. For listening."
He gave her a warm look. "Anytime, Giselle."
The bike rumbled away down the quiet suburban street, leaving her standing there, cheeks warm, body still humming from the ride and the closeness in the kitchen.
---
That night, Giselle lay in bed after the house had gone quiet. The ceiling fan spun slowly above her, stirring the warm air but doing little to cool the restlessness inside.
The day replayed in her mind: the deliberate press of her body against Arahan's on the bike, his hands brushing her breasts during the measurements, the easy way they talked in the kitchen, and his quiet offer to be there whenever she felt lonely.
Her phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark. She picked it up, stared at the contact saved as "Arahan," her thumb hovering over the message icon.
Should she? It was late, almost 11 p.m. What if he thought she was being too forward?
After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, she grabbed the phone again.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed the first message, simple and innocent.
Giselle: Hi Arahan, hope you reached home safely. Thank you again for today. Everything went so smoothly because of you.
She hit send before she could overthink it, heart thudding.
The reply came within a minute.
Arahan: Reached safely, Giselle. No need to thank me. It was really nice spending the day with you. Did you like the dress?
She smiled in the dark, relief washing over her. The conversation started light.
Giselle: Yes, very much. The color is perfect for Thanksgiving. The ride back felt so peaceful.
Arahan: It was. Remember that guy in the pickup truck at the light who kept arguing with the GPS like it could hear him? 😂
Giselle: I heard that! He was yelling "Turn left, you stupid thing!" while the GPS kept saying "Recalculating." I almost couldn't keep a straight face.
Arahan: Haha, exactly. And that little kid at the market with the giant balloon, holding it with both hands like it was the most important job in the world.
They went back and forth like that, sharing small, funny memories from the day, easy laughter filling the late-night silence.
Minutes turned into an hour, then two. Giselle didn't notice the time slipping away. She lay on her stomach now, phone propped on the pillow, smiling at every new message.
The loneliness that had pressed on her chest earlier was gone, replaced by a gentle warmth, a quiet excitement every time the screen lit up with his name.
Around 1:30 a.m., Arahan sent one last message.
Arahan: Getting late, Giselle. You should sleep. Good night. Talk tomorrow if you want.
Giselle: Good night, Arahan. Thank you for chatting. Sweet dreams.
She set the phone down, cheeks still warm, body relaxed for the first time in weeks. She drifted off smiling, the day's closeness and tonight's simple conversation wrapping around her like a soft blanket.