The young man takes her hand, his tone earnest yet playful. "Okay, okay. No couch, no floor, no kitchen table. But there's always the laundry room."
She rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. "The laundry room? Are you serious?"
"Completely," he grins. "It's got that cozy fluorescent light. Very romantic. And it's far from the bedrooms. We'll be quieter than the washing machine on the delicate cycle."
She bites her lip, looking from him toward the dark house, then back. "You promise to be absolutely, totally silent?"
"I'll be a ghost," he whispers, holding up three fingers. "Scout's honor."
With one last check over her shoulder, she gives a tiny, reluctant nod. "Okay. Five minutes. And you have to be out by 2 AM."
He pumps his fist in a silent victory, then follows her as she tiptoes through the front door, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboard in the hallway.
He leans in to whisper one last thing as they pass the living room. "See? Told you. We're professionals at this."
Just then, the hallway light flicks on, blinding them both.
