“I like writing.” She half whispered it, like she was trusting him with a secret, waiting for his nod before she went on. “Stories about people. And their lives.” Her mouth opened and then closed again, accompanied by the rapid blinking of a person who has remembered something important. “By which I meanlifestyles.The art of, you know, finding beauty in the everyday. Because that’s a way to help people… help themselves.” She slid him a sidelong glance, as if to check whether he was swallowing what she was dishing out.
“I see,” he said, pretending not to notice that the benevolent part of that little speech had the distinct air of a postscript. Not that he was in any position to criticize. Jefferson had done plenty of work-for-hire in the early days of his career. He wouldn’t have wanted someone to judge him for taking glamour shots of show dogs to pay the bills.
They continued down the hallway in silence, passing several doors before she stopped in front of the second-to-last on the left. “We gave you and Hildy adjoining bedrooms. For comfort.”
“Ah.” Their alleged coupledom had completely fled his mind.
She opened the door and waved at him to go in.
His backpack looked as shabby and out-of-place as a dust bunny in the immaculate vastness. Everything was wood and white and pale gray, from the raised four-poster bed with its gauzy hangings to the tall shutters closing off what he guessed must be a balcony. The overall effect could have been antiseptic, but it tilted slightly over the line into soothingly organic.
Or so he imagined Hildy would say.
Lillibet cleared her throat.
“It’s very nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I was going to tell you the bathroom is there.” She indicated the door with her thumb. “For your feet.”
They both looked down at his shoes. It was true that he had sand between his toes, but he’d mostly been looking for a moment alone, or at least away from the atmosphere in the living room. Being on his own with Lillibet was a different kind of tension, one that made him feel more alive—unlike the slow suffocation of the scene downstairs.
“Okay,” he said. “I can take it from here.” As if his ability to bathe himself had been in doubt. Or she’d offered to stay and help. He started to toe off his shoes, then worried that seemed rude. Luckily Lillibet had already turned away, so she didn’t notice him standing there with one bare foot and one shoe, his socks still balled up in his pockets.
“This is a new prototype,” she explained, as he kicked aside his other shoe and followed her into the bathroom. The shower was rimless, with what looked like river rock lining the floor. She was frowning at the far wall, on which there did not appear to be anything resembling a knob. “It has a lot of settings.” She poked at the tile. “Very cutting-edge.”
“Is it motion-activated?” he asked, dodging the arm Lillibet was waving over her head.
“Um.” She gave up on the arm movements and started pressing different spots on the floor with her toes. “Sometimes.”
That probably meant the technology was glitchy, but she didn’t want to insult her husband’s work. Jefferson bent to study the other wall, looking for some type of control.
“It’s because this is a guest room,” she said, an explanation and an apology rolled into one. “That’s why I never come in here.”
“That’s okay. I like a challenge.” Crawling around a deluxe yet water-free shower with a virtual stranger wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened to him this week.
“I can do this.” Her eyes were closed, the words spoken under her breath. “I need torelax—”
They both jumped at the suddenplinkof harp music playing from invisible speakers. The overhead lights dimmed, taking on a soft lavender glow.
She beamed at him. “Something happened!”
He nodded, not wanting to spoil her moment of triumph by pointing out that they still hadn’t unlocked any of the more traditional shower functions.
“Now all we need is water.” As she spoke, the harp sounds were replaced by the echoing call of whale song, interspersed with the rush of waves. The light changed to a pulsing blue, as if they were lying on the bottom of the ocean.
It might have been Jefferson’s imagination, but he thought he caught a whiff of salt in the air. The only thing that would have made the ambience more aquatic was some form of liquid. “You’re getting warmer.”
She flinched as the whale sounds gave way to shrieking monkeys and the low hum of insects. Clouds of steam puffed out on all sides, scented with tropical flowers.
“I’m almost damp,” she said, cupping a hand to catch some of the condensation. “I mean, from the mist.”
Of course that was what she meant. He stared at the moisturecaught in the hollow of her throat. Sweat or condensation from the shower? The only way to tell would be to taste it.
Whoa, there.He had no intention of going from cheated-on to cheater. Time to dial it back.
“Might be easier to stand outside in the rain.”Especially if it’s cold.He was only half joking, a distinction lost on the shower, which released a slow trickle of droplets from overhead.
“You did it!” She clapped her hands together, delight fading as the water cut off. “Do you think it’s because we have our clothes on?” She tugged at the waist of her dress as if debating whether to take it off.
