“Love you too. Text me when you get home.” I make a mental note of the car’s license plate number. Just in case.

I pull out my own phone while I wait for her to get in the car and take off.

ME: I’m out front. Bath ready?

JACK: You know it, pink peony.

ME: What happened to sweet pea?

JACK: Gotta keep you on your toes.

My phone beeps with an incoming photo.

The bath is drawn. And Jack’s already in it.

I race up the stairs of the stoop and push through the front door. “Honey, I’m home!”

After deliveries the next day, I plop down on the couch in the living room. Everything aches. Even after a very hot, very “relaxing” bath the night before, my muscles are protesting the constant motion of the past few days. Between deliveries and bar shifts, I feel like I’ve been on my feet for a week straight.

Jack bounds down the stairs a minute later. “I thought I heard you come in.”

“I’m dead.” I fling one arm over my face, the other dangling off the side of the couch. If the floristry business doesn’t work out, I might have a future in acting.

He sits on the end of the couch, taking my feet in his lap. Making good use of those strong fingers, he presses into the balls of my feet until I’m literally moaning out loud. He gives me a bemused smile. “Would another bath help?”

“Probably. But only if you’re not in it, and even then I don’t know if I can ever fully relax in a bath again after last night.” The water wasn’t the only thing that was hot, if you know what I mean. “I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs. See bath, get turned on.”

“What if I promise to stay out of the bath, and also promise to take care of resulting turned on–ness whenever you’re ready for me?” He moves his hands up to my calves, those fingers kneading my aching muscles.

“That offer sounds like it’s too good to be true.” I prop myself up on my elbows so I can look at his adorable face properly. “What’s the catch?”

“You let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

“So you’re actually offering me a massage, then a bath, then an orgasm, then dinner?” I flop back on the couch. “Now I know I must be dreaming.”

He stands, gently replacing my feet back on the sofa, before heading up the stairs to my bathroom. “I usually like to go for two.”

“Two what?”

He winks at me. “Orgasms.”