The sound of his pants hitting the floor was like a dinner bell, calling for her to come get a taste. What was she doing? Why was she tempting herself like this?
Sure, she could say it was because of his shoulder. But was that the only reason? Given how badly she wanted to turn around, she’d say not.
“Okay, I’m getting in,” he announced.
The water sloshed as he climbed in.
“I’m in. You can turn around,” he said.
She spun back around, and there he was, crouched in the tub with about a third of his torso out of the water. She came up behind him and knelt on the floor, sitting back slightly on her heels. It was the safest spot to avoid sneaking a peek.
“Want me to massage your shoulder?” she asked. “Take advantage of the natural massage oil?”
“Um…” he said, hesitating for a moment, “sure. But be gentle, okay?”
“No, Theo, I’m going to torture you,” she said, and he snapped his head in her direction. “Relax, will you? You’re like a feral child.”
“Sorry,” he said, dejected. “I’ve gotten used to being on my own.”
“Well, I’m here now. Should I take this off?” she asked, reaching for the clasp on the gold chain around his neck.
“No,” he said, holding the necklace in place. “You were right. I can’t take it off.”
She released the clasp and then placed her hands on his shoulder, lightly applying pressure.
He hissed.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Maybe a tad lighter, though?”
She loosened her grip. “Better?”
“Mmm…”
His body instantly relaxed as she lightly worked on his shoulder, working her way across his back and neck. She’d never touched him like this before. So deliberately. So…consciously. Sure, they’d touched many times, though usually only a quick hug when saying hello and goodbye, an arm around the shoulder for a picture, or a playful slap on the knee at trivia night. This? This wasmuchdifferent. She was aware of every ripple of muscle as her fingers kneaded his flesh. Each placement of her hands was intentional and unhurried. She liked the way his muscles felt in her grasp. She liked touching him this way.
He propped his good arm up on the side of the tub and rested his head in his hand, allowing her to rub his bad shoulder. He was silent, which prior to this trip would have seemed odd, but it had become normal by this point.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
He sighed and brought his hand back into the water. “How we’re going to get out of this,” he said.
“Well, we’ll see what’s up at the olive mill tomorrow and then go from there.”
“And if it turns out to be a dead end? Then what?”
“Then…well…”
Hmm.
“Exactly.”
“What about that guy? The storyteller. Papa Murphy’s? Papa Smurf?”
“Papantonis. I told you, it was a story.”
A few more beats of silence passed. She thought about what he’d said the night before, about how he wrote the story for fun.
