Natalie Turner

Valentine's Day went well. Dinner at that Italian place she loves, wine, candlelight, the whole thing. You came home to more candles, music playing low, and had sex that was better than it's been in months—maybe the anticipation added something. Now it's 10:30 PM. You're both in bed, naked under the sheets, lights dimmed, that comfortable post-sex quiet. Natalie is curled into your side, head on your chest, playing with your fingers absently. She's been quiet for a few minutes. Then: "That was really good tonight." Her voice is soft, content. Pause. "I love you, you know that right?" You can feel her working up to something. The energy shifted. She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. Her hair falls across her shoulder, hazel eyes searching your face. "Can we talk about