Laughing to myself, I pressed my thumb a little harder into the ball of her foot, and she made a sound—soft, breathy, barely there, but enough to make my pulse stutter.

I needed something to focus on before I did something stupid.

So I reached behind me, grabbed the pink nail polish from the basket on the counter, and uncapped it with my teeth.

Beverly frowned. “What⁠—”

“Shut up,” I muttered. “I’m busy.”

She huffed but didn’t pull away.

“You’re the one who wanted to take a bath with me,” I reminded her, steadying her foot in my hand.

I painted her toes carefully, as if the stupid pink polish actually mattered. As if, by focusing hard enough on this, I could avoid thinking about the mess I’d made of everything else.

Beverly sighed, but it wasn’t frustration. I knew her. I knew she liked being taken care of, even when she pretended she didn’t.

“You’ve never painted my nails before…”

“You never asked,” I said, moving on to the next toe.

Her foot flexed slightly in my grip. “Blake,” she said softly.

I didn’t dare look up.

“Why are you doing this?”

I pressed my lips together. Paused. “You know why.”

She sighed, a sound that could have meant a thousand things, but I didn’t let myself analyze it. I kept painting, slow and even. When I finished the last toe, I blew gently on it, watching the soft pink dry.

Beverly wiggled her foot, staring at my work. “Well…”

“You like it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips told me everything I needed to know.

A sharp knock on the door made us both freeze.

Beverly jerked her foot away so fast she nearly slipped under the water. I caught her knee on reflex, steadying her before she could drown herself out of sheer panic.

“Beverly?” Mom’s voice. “Are you in there?”

Beverly’s entire body locked up. Her eyes went wide.

“Yeah!” she called, too loudly and too quickly.

A pause.

“Have you seen Blake?”

I rubbed my hands over my face, forcing my breath to even out.

Beverly shot me a look. A do not make a sound look.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, no. I think he went out.”

Another pause.

After what felt like an eternity, Mom spoke again. “Okay.”

It wasn’t until the footsteps had completely disappeared that either of us breathed again. Beverly slowly turned her head toward me, her expression unreadable. She sank lower into the water, tilting her face toward the ceiling, her fingers trailing idly through the water.

I watched her for a long moment, letting the silence settle, listening to the faint sound of water lapping against porcelain.

“You’re staring,” Beverly said without looking at me.

“So?” I shrugged, making no effort to look away.