Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze. She clutched the towel to her chest.

Coming into the kitchen, he met her in an awkward two-step in the narrow space between tub and table.

Bare feet bumped leather work boots. “Here let me—”

“I’ll just—” he said at the same time.

She laughed lightly.

He laughed, too, sidling past very close and ducking into the bathroom.

In seconds, he would return in some degree of undress. Much as she wanted to spy from behind a chair, modesty required she retreat to the porch. A breeze rushed through the screen door, and she hesitated, wrapping the towel around her shoulders. Where to go? Upstairs felt weird—like she expected him to join her in the bedroom. Was the living room too intimate? She scanned her surroundings. An armchair tucked in the corner by the woodstove faced away from the kitchen, seeming a safe choice.

She settled into it and took up Die Botschaft. Two fat drops fell from her hair and splatted onto the front page. When she wiped them, the newsprint smudged gray beneath her fingertips. The bathroom latch clicked, and the paper slid unopened into her lap. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. But for her index finger tickling back and forth over the hem of his shirt, she sat unmoving. Every inch of skin tingled with awareness he was steps away and about to get into the bath. Bare feet padded across linoleum. She heard the gentle sloosh as he lowered first one leg and then the other, followed by a bigger splash when he eased into the tub.

He let out a breathy groan.

She licked her lips and let her lids fall. Eyes closed, she pictured him with golden lamplight playing over his back while lazy rivers trickled down his forehead and into the hollows of his cheeks. Big shoulders crushed against either side of the tub he’d long outgrown. Rugged knees broke the water’s surface.

As he began to wash, barely voiced exhalations escaped his lips. The soap slid between his palms with wet smacks and plopped into the tub. His fingers rasped against his skull, quick and strong. She ached to pull up the stool and massage his soapy scalp until every ounce of exhaustion ebbed into her fingertips.

With a sound like buckets of water poured from above, he stood. In her mind’s eye, she followed every droplet down his chest, over his belly, and into the tub. She swallowed and stiffened. Then came a spattering splash as he shook his head like a dog and stepped from the bath. A towel scritched over bare skin, and the tender flesh beneath her arms twitched sympathetically. She caught a gentle grunt as he reached for his clothing and the tread of each foot as it pushed through cotton and landed on the floor.