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“Mud facials?” I blurt, whipping my head toward Declan. “You’re getting a mud facial. With that beard on your face?”
He tugs at the strands of hair in question. “Maybe I’ll just skip that part?” he says, a brow raised at Enya.
“Sure. We can have you start the massage early.”
“I’ll just sit in while she does hers,” he offers.
“I’ve never had a mud mask,” I admit. “Do you think it’s like the same thing as a regular one? I can’t imagine mud on my face. That seems so unsanitary.”
He chuckles. “It doesn’t, but if my sister thinks it’s a good idea, then it probably is.”
I debate that for a moment, then nod. “The sheets she chose are divine. They were seriously so soft, I couldn’t believe it.”
“They are. I don’t want to go back to my place when the pipes are fixed.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Enya escorts us back into a room where we undress and change into dark towel-like robes. They’re quite cozy. And then a few moments later, a beautician comes in to start the facial.
“What’s it smell like?” Declan asks from the chair beside me.
I make a dramatic show of inhaling through my nose while she spreads the thick spread over my face. “Dirt.”
She lets out a giggle, and Declan follows with his own deep rumble.
“It’s actually not bad,” I say. “Don’t think it really smells like anything.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you tasting like soil later when I go to kiss you.”
My cheeks heat despite the cool cream being rubbed onto my face. His foot reaches out, bumping into mine, and I open one eye to turn his way. “Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay?”
I shut my eye. “I know, I am, too. Let’s just blame it on lack of sleep.”
“Sounds good.”
Alex, the beautician, finishes up and disappears for thirty minutes while the mud settles and does whatever it is mud does to your face. The massages go just as smoothly. We’re taken to a dark room where soft music plays and settle onto the tables. Two separate people come in and introduce themselves.
Maxine moves to Declan’s side while Joe comes to mine. He props himself up on his elbow. “Absolutely not,” Declan says.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, lifting my head from the hole in the table.
“You go to her,” he says, looking at Maxine.
Oh. He’s doing his possessive thing. I grin, setting my head back onto the cushioned table, and close my eyes. Maxine starts on my shoulders, and I let out a low moan as her touch helps ease the tension I’ve been holding. “This is amazing,” I say.
Declan shushes me. “You’re supposed to be quiet and relaxed. No talking.”
“If I don’t talk, I’ll fall asleep.”
Maxine chuckles. “That’s completely fine, love. I’ll wake you when it’s over.”
And I do fall asleep. Maxine gently coaxes me awake, and when I’m propped up, I catch the sound of Declan’s deep chuckles. He’s sitting up, his robe on, and Joe is gone.
“You totally snore,” he says through his laughter.
“Shut up.” I lean forward and nudge his chest. “I do not.”
Maxine slips away. I hop off the table and grab my robe. “Oh, wow,” I say, leaning down to rub my bad knee. It’s never been the same since I was a catcher in high school. Softball had been brutal on my joints, but one game I caught a cleat to my knee trying to stop a girl from sliding into home. For the past six or so years, I’ve lived in constant pain. I chalked it up to aging.
