The first of November flips a switch in me. Cozy sweaters. Cinnamon in the air. Family texts about stuffing and playlists. I showed up with a new boyfriend and a grin I could not hide.

He looked ridiculous in the cutest way. Fresh cut. Nice sweater I planned to steal later. The way he watched me set the table made my stomach dip. Aunties asked how we met. Cousins stole olives. I gave him the kind of smile that says later and maybe now.

I brushed his wrist passing the gravy boat. Tiny touch. He blinked like I had whispered something filthy in his ear. I mouthed bathroom. He swallowed. We both knew I was not joking.

The hallway felt like a dare. Steam from the kitchen. Football noise in the living room. My hand tugging him by two fingers. I locked the door and leaned back. One long kiss that turned my knees to warm pudding. He tried to be careful. I shook my head and smiled. I wanted him greedy. I wanted the mirror to fog and my lipstick to smudge while I tried not to make a sound.

Water on. Soap. We cleaned up like criminals. I fixed my gloss and smoothed my sweater and told him not to look guilty. He failed immediately. I pinched his side and he tried again.

Back at the table the room paused for one small beat. Two cousins grinned. My sister raised an eyebrow. Mom poured wine like she had seen everything already and let me live. Dad asked who wanted more turkey. I said yes please with pink cheeks and a perfectly normal appetite.

Under the table he found my knee with his hand. I tapped his wrist twice, our private code. Later. He nodded and passed the cranberry sauce like we had not just pulled a holiday heist in the guest bath. I swear the pie tasted better after that.