He turned back to me—and that’s when I noticed his eyes.
Red.
Watering.
Blinking too fast.
“Are you okay?” I stepped closer.
“Soap in my eyes.” He said it like it was no big deal even though tears were literally streaming down his face. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re crying.”
“I’m not crying. It’s soap.”
“Same result.” I grabbed his arm. “Come on. You need to rinse them out properly.”
“Claudette—”
“Bathroom. Now.” I pulled him toward the hallway. “Don’t argue with me. You ran out here to save me from my cooking disaster. The least I can do is make sure you don’t go blind from shampoo.”
He let me lead him back to the bathroom, which was still thick with steam. The shower was still running, water streaming down the glass doors.
“Get in,” I said. “Rinse your eyes.”
“I can do it myself?—”
“Michael, you can barely see. Just—” I reached for the shower door, pulled it open. Steam billowed out. “Get under the water.”
He hesitated for just a second, then stepped into the shower.
With the towel still on.
I almost laughed. “You’re going to get that wet.”
“Better than the alternative.” His voice was strained as he tilted his head back under the spray, rubbing at his eyes.
I stood there watching him, trying very hard not to notice how the water made the towel cling to him. How it was already starting to slip.
“Better?” I asked after a minute.
“Getting there.” He kept his head under the water, both hands pressed to his face. “This is humiliating.”
“It’s karma. For all the times you’ve taken care of me.”
“I don’t remember any of those times involving you half-naked in my shower.”
“Fair point.”
He finally straightened up, blinking water from his eyes. Turned to look at me. And something in the air shifted.
He was soaking wet, water streaming down his body. I was standing just outside the shower, close enough that steam was making my shirt stick to my skin.
Close enough to notice he was staring at me the same way I’d been staring at him.
“You should go,” he said. His voice had gone low. Gravelly.
“Why?”
