He swallowed. “What?”
“Maybe it senses that we’re not naked. Like a safety mechanism, so it doesn’t start spraying people when they come in here to clean—or whatever.”
Part of Jefferson wanted to wait and let her propose the obvious solution, but his better nature forced him to speak up. “I think it’s voice commands. Sound in general.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “That makes more sense. So it was the—” she clapped three times, and water shot out from several directions at once. They dodged the jets until the spray shut off.
“It’s like trying to wash your hands in a public restroom.”
“Makes it tricky to scrub.”
“What is the sound of one hand clapping?” Lillibet mimed washing her armpit with one hand while slapping her thigh with the other. “There’s probably a rhythm to it.”
“Or else it’s a two-person job.” It was an innocent remark; there was nothing sexy about having a designated clapper, even if you were naked at the time. But the shower had other ideas. Apparently “two-person” was the cue for a sultry saxophone solo and potent aroma of rose petals. Jefferson tried very hard not to imagine Lillibet and her husband frolicking under the hot-pink heat lamps.
“Normal!” Lillibet tipped her head back to address the ceiling. “Regular. Basic. Humdrum. Calgon, take me away!” She shook her head. “How is it that none of those work? I just want a simple shower.”
They waited for something to happen. It occurred to Jefferson that this was the opposite of Lillibet’s usual approach, which relied on complicating everything. Or, at least, that was true of her online persona. The Lillibet wiping scented mist of her forehead with the heel of her hand while grunting in frustration didn’t seem to be a fan of fussiness.
“Niagara,” Jefferson yelled.
“What are you doing?”
“Just curious.” He thought for a minute. “Irrigation?”
“Super-soaker,” she called out, shoulders sagging when nothing happened. “I should go get Mr.—my husband.” Her smile was rueful. “I didn’t think it would be thishard.”
Water sprayed them with ballistic force. It was like a scene from a war movie, and they were the doomed platoon caught in heavy enemy crossfire. Jefferson expected the music to change to whistling grenades and rat-a-tat machine guns, but what he could hear over Lillibet’s stream of profanity sounded more like chanting. Operating on pure instinct, he reached for her, spinning around so that her back was against the wall and his body arched over hers, blocking most of the spray.
It was the closest they’d ever been to each other, and even the assault on his kidneys wasn’t enough to distract Jefferson from the way her eyes—and lips—lined up with his. They fit together like dovetail joints in a wooden drawer. She was breathing hard, her rib cage pressing against his chest with every inhale. Jefferson could feel how easily the moment could turn into something more.
When the water cut off, it took a few seconds for his brain to process the clapping sound. It was not applause. A pointedahemfollowed.
“I don’t advise starting with level three,” Lillibet’s husband scolded, as Jefferson peeled himself away from her. They stepped out of the shower, meek as children busted with their hands in the cookie jar.
“It was an accident,” she said, speaking over Jefferson’s simultaneous confession:
“My fault.”
“Sophisticated systems like this one require a delicate touch. Observe.” With the grace of a dancer, Mr. L raised his hands to shoulder-height, slapping his palms as he said, “Gentle.” A soft patter of droplets fell. He shot them a did-you-see-that? glance before saying, “Medium.”
The steady spray was almost like a regular shower.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Lillibet muttered.
“Because you weren’t ordering a steak?” Jefferson replied, for her ears only.
“Once you’re ready for a more aggressive shower experience,” Mr. L continued, as if they were in the middle of a symposium, “you can intensify the force.”
Jefferson nodded. No need to repeat that experience. Or at least not the water-blaster part.
“We have also many other options. A shower for every mood. Bellagio.” Geysers spurted in a dancing rhythm until Mr. L clapped them to silence. “Winter’s journey.” The temperature plummeted, accompanied by a hissing that sounded like freezing rain. “Night swimming.” Total darkness, apart from a single floodlight that was probably supposed to be the moon. “Morning dew.” The lights rose in washes of yellow and coral, while invisible birds chirped.
“He’s what you might call… a visionary,” Lillibet said, after a pause that suggested she was searching for an adequate word.
The door to the adjoining room flew open. “I knew it!” Hildy glared at them, hands on hips. “You’re all up here having fun without me.”
Mr. L cut short his demonstration with an authoritative double-clap. Likely for the best, considering he’d just announced something called the wheel of fire.
