Ryan must be applying for a promotion to sainthood. Not only has he brought me one of every kind of taco available to mankind, but he quietly cleans up my kitchen and draws a bath while I eat them. When I offer some to him, he shakes his head and tells me he ate already. I skip the shrimp taco and the carne asada one because I know those are his favorites. And when I offer them to him, he flashes me a wide grin and practically inhales them.

As he makes his way through my kitchen, tossing out containers and loading the dishwasher, I allow myself to watch shamelessly. The lean muscles of his shoulders stretch his pale blue, lightweight sweater. When he bends over to put a pod in the dishwasher, his glasses slip down his nose. He pushes them back up, then goes to check the bath, seemingly oblivious to my attention.

When he comes out of the bathroom, his glasses are fogged up. I laugh lightly, and his responding goofy grin would have my knees going weak if I weren’t already sitting down. There’s something about having him here again that has already lifted some of the crushing weight I had been feeling. And yeah, it could have been the tacos, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly him.

“Ready?” he asks as he leans against the doorway.

I don’t trust myself to stand steadily when he’s leaning and smirking and looking so adorably perfect. It’s almost like we haven’t missed a beat.

Some things never change.

“You make it sound like I’m in for an experience,” I deflect as I try to buy myself some time to get my libido under control.

“The Ryan Whitlock Bathing Experience is one unlike any other.” He tips is head back toward the bathroom. “Come on, beautiful. Let me take care of you.”

My mouth goes dry, and a warm heat pools low in my belly. “Are you… You’re not…”

His smile widens. “I won’t look,” he promises. “There’s a lot of bubbles.” A look of pure earnestness crosses his face. “I want to help, Scarlett. Please let me.”

I try very hard to swallow and bring some moisture back to my mouth to no avail. This is bonkers. I should absolutely make him leave. He’s done enough, and I feel better. I can probably take it from here. But what happens after this bath, when I get out and dry off and realize I still don’t know what to do with myself? And worse, what happens when he’s gone and I miss him again?

There’s no use denying it. I want him here, even if it’s a terrible idea.