“Yeah?” He eased the cardigan off and set it on top of the sash, then reached for the hem of her dress. “What canned vegetable do I have the most of?”

“Black beans,” she said immediately, and opened her eyes. “Although technically, that’s a legume. I think.”

“Legumes are vegetables. Lift your arms.”

“There’s an entire cupboard full of canned black beans. Why do you have so many?” she asked, raising her arms obediently so he could whisk the dress over her head. He set it on the sink with the rest of her clothes, then nudged her toward the tub.

“Because I love them, but I don’t have the patience to make them from scratch,” he said, and helped her step into the rapidly filling tub. “Don’t tell my mother.”

She sank into the water with a hiss of discomfort, and he frowned. “Too hot?”

“A little,” she said. He reached out to adjust the taps, then began shedding his own clothes.

She crossed her arms on the wide lip of the bath and laid her head on them, watching him strip. “Why can’t I tell your mother you eat black beans?”

“You can tell her I eat them,” he said, enjoying the way her eyes widened as he strode toward her naked. “You just can’t tell her I eat them out of a can. Scootch forward a bit.”

She shifted obediently, and he slid in behind her. He spread his legs wide, cradling her between them, and tugged her back. “How’s that?”

“Comfy,” she said, relaxing against him with a sigh.

The water level was nearing the overflow drain, so he reached out to nudge it off with one foot, then eased back against the tub. “How do you feel otherwise?”

“Good,” she said, her cheek rubbing against his chest as she twisted her head to look up at him.

“No bad moments?”

She smiled shyly. “Just the ones I wanted.”

He chuckled. “All right, then. Do you want to talk about it now, or later?”

“Can we wait until later?” she asked, peering up at him through damp lashes. He didn’t know if they were wet from the water, or the tears she’d shed earlier. “I kind of just want to chill right now.”

“Sure, fofa.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “As long as you’re feeling okay.”

“I feel great,” she said, then wrinkled her nose. “And a little sticky.”

He grinned and picked up a loofah and a bottle of body wash. “Well, that I can take care of.”

He poured a generous dollop of body wash onto the sponge and worked up a lather, the soap’s peppermint scent filling the air.

“That’s why you sometimes smell like peppermint.”

He tapped the sponge on her nose, leaving a dollop of bubbles behind, before stroking the sponge over her chest. “Like it?”