The bath steams, the scent of rosewater rising through the bubbles, into the sticky humid air. Outside, it’s cold and gray. This is perfect, she thinks, tipping her head back against the tile, the rolled-up towel cradling her neck. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. Perfect.
A soft rush of cooler air moves through the room, and there’s the sound of bare feet on tile. She blinks and looks, and he’s there, two hot mugs in one hand and a well-worn copy of her favorite novel in the other.
He smiles back. “Are you ready?”