What can
I pour you?

Not so much as a kiss. Cupid apparently took the day off.

A kiss or two, maybe some hand-holding. Everyone's clothes remain properly accounted for.

Plenty of kissing and a few wandering hands, but nothing that requires hiding the book's cover in public.

Things get heated, but the bedroom door closes before you need to avert your eyes.

The bedroom door stays open long enough that pretending you don't know what's happening would require real determination.

Nothing is left to the imagination. Your imagination may take the evening off.

Your pulse may remain completely undisturbed.

A raised eyebrow or two, but your tea is safe.

A few tense moments. You may read one chapter past bedtime.

Steady danger and mounting tension. Keep the lights on.

Edge-of-your-seat peril. Your drink may go untouched.

Relentless tension. Cancel your plans—you aren't putting this down.

Nothing lurking in the shadows here.

A cobweb in the corner. Probably harmless.

A few shivers, strange noises, or things that go bump in the night.

Properly eerie. You may inspect the closet before bed.

Deeply unsettling. Every floorboard is suddenly suspicious.

Nightmare fuel. Sleep was overrated anyway.