He gives me a wink before heading into the men’s changing room. “See you on the other side.”
I watch the door swing shut behind him, heart doing that ridiculous fluttery thing I wish it wouldn’t. Then I slip into the women’s changing room.
The space is silent, echoing faintly. I hang up my coat, take off my jeans and jumper, and pull the white bathrobe around me. The swimsuit underneath suddenly feels very small and very daring even if it is a one-piece.
When I step through the door that leads directly to the pool area, the warmth hits me first—soft, damp air scented faintly with lavender. The water ripples lazily under low lights, the surface glinting gold.
Aaron isn’t here yet.
Relief rushes through me.
Without giving myself time to hesitate, I hurry across the tiles to the far end, where the large hot tub waits beneath a wall of windows. I drop my bathrobe on a nearby chair, the air cool against my skin, and slip quickly into the steaming water.
The heat wraps around me instantly, and I let out a quiet breath.
The room is still, the only sound the gentle rush of the water jets. For the first time all day, I feel my shoulders unclench.
Maybe it’s not so bad, this whole trying-new-things business—at least until Aaron walks in and I remember how to be self-conscious again.
I tilt my head back against the edge of the tub, letting the warmth do its work. The soft hiss of the bubbles and the dim light make everything feel a little unreal, like I’ve wandered into someone else’s life for the evening.
The door clicks open behind me, and footsteps sound against the tiles. I glance over, and whatever calm I’d managed evaporates.
Aaron hasn’t bothered with a bathrobe. He’s wearing black baggy trunks that hang low on his hips, skin still damp from the shower. He’s toned, but not the sort of exaggerated muscular that looks exhausting—just solid, strong in a way that feels entirely practical. Dark hair trails over his skin, tapering down towards his stomach before disappearing into his shorts.
He looks… very at ease. Unfairly so.
He steps closer, water lapping softly against the edge of the hot tub as he tests it with one foot. “How’s the water?”
“Wet,” I say automatically.
The word hangs in the steamy air for half a second before my brain catches up. “I mean… warm. Obviously it’s wet. That’s… that’s how water works.”
I can feel my cheeks heat faster than the bubbles.
Aaron’s expression doesn’t shift into laughter, though. Instead, there’s that faint, familiar glint in his eyes, amusement tempered with kindness. “Good to know,” he says, stepping fully in. “Would’ve been a shock otherwise.”
I let out a breath that might be a laugh, sinking lower into the water to hide the fact that my face now matches the colour of the warning sign on the wall.
He settles opposite me, stretching his arms along the edge of the tub, as if nothing in the world could possibly ruffle him.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here having a minor existential crisis over the wordwet.
“So,” he says, voice low, unhurried. “Do you usually spend your Sunday nights in hot tubs with strange men?”
“Only the ones who promise there’ll be no witnesses,” I reply before my brain can stop me.
His grin spreads, slow and entirely too pleased. “Good answer. You’re adapting quickly.”
I shake my head, trying to look unimpressed and failing. “I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.”
“Sure it is,” he says. “You’ve gone from ‘I hate crowds’ to ‘I’ll sit in a giant bath with a bloke I barely know’ in less than twenty-four hours. That’s solid progress.”
“I’m not sure my therapist would approve of the method,” I mutter, trying to suppress a smile.
He gestures towards me, eyes still warm with amusement. “But she’d approve of the results, wouldn’t she?”
I open my mouth to argue and then stop, because he’s not wrong.
