I become acutely aware that this could be the moment I’ve spectacularly misjudged her, the room, the day, my entire personality.
“And you’re not,” she says slowly, “disgusted by the idea?”
“No,” I say, immediately. “Why would I be?”
She searches my face, suspicious. “At all.”
“I’m being honest,” I say. “I wouldn’t do oral. That’s a boundary. But otherwise, no. It’s sex. It’s bodies. It’s normal.”
She exhales, something easing in her shoulders.
“And the shower,” she says.
“Would keep things simple,” I reply. “Minimal mess. Less stress. Yours just isn’t built for two people with actual bodies.”
“That is an extremely specific observation.”
“I have strong opinions about showers,” I say. “This one would end in injury.”
She studies me again, head tilted, like she’s trying to work out where this is coming from.
I shift my weight, suddenly very aware of myself.
“For what it’s worth,” I add, quieter now, “I realise this might be a weird line to cross. If it is, say so and I’ll back off immediately. I’m not… asking because I can’t help myself.”
I meet her eyes.
She huffs out a breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “My shower’s too small anyway.”
“Yes,” I say carefully, relieved she’s still talking. “That was… part of my conclusion.”
She shakes her head. “You went to investigate my plumbing for this.”
“I did a brief risk assessment,” I say. “It failed.”
There’s a pause. Then, because I owe her clarity if nothing else, I add, “Mine isn’t.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“I mean, I have a big shower,” I continue, choosing each word with care, “and Rupert isn’t home. He’s staying at Glen's tonight.”
I stop there. No flourish. No pressure. Just information, laid out like facts on a table.
She watches me, colour rising in her cheeks, but she doesn’t look alarmed. She looks thoughtful. Measuring.
“You’ve really thought this through,” she says.
I give a small, helpless shrug. “You are in pain. I don’t like that.”
Another beat of silence stretches between us, charged but steady.
“And if I say no,” she asks.
“Then nothing happens,” I say immediately. “I’ll finish packing up the food, make sure you’re settled, and leave. No offence taken. No weirdness.”
She studies my face, clearly checking for cracks. Finding none.
“Hm,” she says.
