Her layer of bubbles was still thick and opaque, and she had a handy towel nearby for emergency coverage. Good enough.
“Let’s make this easier on both of us, James.” She slid back down and rested her head against the towel. “Why don’t you come in, and we’ll talk?”
Another, longer pause. “Are you sure?”
“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”
The door cracked open an inch. “If you’re certain, there are a few toiletries I should move to the other bathroom too.”
“Be my guest.” She snorted. “Or be the homeowner, I suppose. I mean, this is your house.”
“Ourhouse.”
The door opened all the way, and he entered the bathroom, his eyes averted from the tub. And if she wasn’t mistaken—
“Are you holding a plate of petits fours? In a bathroom?”
He chewed a bit, and then swallowed audibly. “I make no apologies. I didn’t know you’d invite me inside. And you made them, so they’re delicious, just like all the other snacks and sweets you cooked for the party. I wanted to eat them while they were fresh.”
No wonder she hadn’t been able to understand him through the door. He’d probably been chewing then too.
He set his plate down on the smooth, speckled vanity countertop and selected another petit four. Holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger, he studied the poured fondant glaze and the sugared rose petal on top. The swirls piped along the sides with such care.
All shiny white and sparkling pink. All more wedding-cake-like than she’d intended.
He nodded his head a little, seemingly to himself.
When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft. “Do you want one?”
His eyes met hers in the half-fogged mirror, and suddenly, even though she didn’t slip an inch, she was drowning. She nodded too, and he slowly walked toward her. Slowly knelt on the thick mat by the bath and offered the petit four to her.
When she took it from him, their fingers brushed. She shivered, and his eyes narrowed.
“Are you cold? Do you want me to run more hot water?”
She was plenty hot. For the first time in years, maybe.
“I’m…” She swallowed. “I’m good. Thank you for the snack.”
She popped the petit four into her mouth, not knowing what else to do. The moist loft of the vanilla sponge, the welcome tartness of lemon curd against sweet raspberry jam, made her smile in pride. Made her close her eyes in pleasure.
After two years away from her bakery, she still knew her shit.
When she opened her eyes again, the heat from the bath had coaxed a flush along James’s cheekbones.
He cleared his throat. “Another?”
“No, thank you. I’m still full from everything I ate earlier.” A huge bubble was clinging to the side of the tub, just on the water line, and she lifted a toe to pop it. “Didn’t you say something about the painting Jenny gave me?”
He blinked, hard. “Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you wanted me to hang it in your bedroom. I can do that while you’re bathing, if you’d like.”
“Oh, what a lovely idea.” She smiled at him, delighted by the thought. “She shouldn’t have given it to me, not considering the prices she gets for her originals these days, but I’ve always adored that painting. I’m so glad to have it.” She scrunched her nose. “Does that make me vain?”
He rested his elbows on the edge of the tub. “Because you love a gorgeous, colorful portrait created by a good friend? One where you’re painting your toenails and looking happy? Why would that make you vain?”
“Well, it’s sort of like admiring myself, right?” Flicking a bubble with her finger, she considered the matter. “But I think what I love most about it is remembering how much fun we had while she painted me. I can’t even tell you how many layers of polish I went through. It took me buckets of acetone to get it all off between sessions.”
“You’re not wearing polish on your toes now.”
