Page 123 of Roses in Summer

“Liar,” he teases, levity settling over the heaviness. It disappears as quickly as it appeared. His face turns serious, and he nods toward a short hallway. “Let me help clean you up.”

I bite down on my lip, nodding as I follow his gaze. Lincoln reaches behind him and turns both locks on the door before walking forward, bringing us through his bedroom and into a dimly lit bathroom with countertops that match the kitchen and a large black-tiled shower. Depositing me on the counter, he reaches into the shower stall and turns the handle, water spraying from the showerhead. I’m surprised by how quickly steam builds, the half-glass shower fogging up from the hot water almost instantly. With my eyes locked on the growing condensation, I jump when Lincoln’s fingers untie my robe, revealing me to his penetrating gaze.

His hands trail up the lapels of my robe, pushing the fabric until it falls behind me and pools on the vanity. His hands reach for my skin, fingertips featherlight as he traces the beauty marks on my arm, a constellation he seems keen on studying. My eyes flutter closed at the sensation, enjoying the feeling of his hands on me. “Let’s clean you up, ciern.”

I swallow the thickness in my throat and let him pick me up from the counter and place me into the hot water. His hands leave my hips and start tugging on his clothes, pulling his shirt, pants, and briefs off in quick succession. I let my eyes wander over his tattooed skin, drinking in the sight of him. He joins me under the stream of water, turning me around so that my back is at his front. His arms band around me, pulling me into a tight hug with his chin resting atop my head.

“I was going to take you to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens tonight. They have a rose display I thought you’d like.” I sink deeper into his embrace, his arms squeezing impossibly tighter. “I just got you back, ciern.”

“I’m okay, Lincoln,” I whisper, reassuring him even though I feel frazzled inside.

“But what if you weren’t? What then?”

I sigh at his words and turn around in his hold. “It could be something as innocent as faulty wiring or a curling iron left on. This doesn’t have to be a crime.” The words are sour on my tongue, but they still need to be said. “Not everything is a conspiracy.”

“Ciern, don’t tell me that you believe this shit isn’t all intertwined. You’re an intelligent woman; don’t fool yourself.”

“I’m not saying it’s not possible. What I’m saying is that other possibilities can exist simultaneously, and until we know the cause, it’s no use speculating. It’ll drive us both crazy, and what I need right now is to compartmentalize tonight, shove it in a box, and forget about it until I have to pull it back out and revisit it.” The water pounds over our skin, beating my words into us.

Lincoln grunts in response and releases his hold. Reaching to the shelf behind me, he holds up a bottle of shampoo that looks suspiciously like the one I own. “Where did you get this?”

“I ordered groceries and toiletries for you before I left your apartment this morning. That’s why my phone was on your nightstand.”

I grab the bottle from his hand and pop the top open, closing my eyes as I inhale the familiar scent of citrus and let it calm my mind. “Were you looking through my things?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate, with zero hesitancy in his response.

My eyes pop open, and I release a startled laugh, not expecting his honesty. “Oh.”

“Turn back around. I’ll wash your hair.”

“It’s okay—” I start, only to be spun around by Lincoln’s large tattooed hands.

“I need this, Seraphina. The same way you need to compartmentalize tonight, I need the reminder that you’re here with me and not going anywhere, okay? Just humor me.”

Nodding my head, I let him care for me, first with my shampoo, then my conditioner. When the water runs clear from my scalp, he grabs a bottle of my favorite bodywash and squeezes it onto a loofa that hangs from the shower handle. He keeps the pressure light, careful not to scrape my skin as he cleanses my body.

His motions are repetitious and unhurried. He cleans a spot and moves to another, just to go back to his original destination. I want to comment, to scold him for wasting the hot water on me when we should be getting out and conserving.

But I don’t.

I allow him this ritual, this baptism, and stand still as his hands reassure him that I’m whole.

That I’m present.

That I’m unharmed.

It feels like hours have been spent in this shower when he finally turns his attention to himself. Unlike his attention to my cleanliness, he spares two minutes on himself and shuts the water as soon as the soap runs off his body.

Just outside the shower hang two towels. He dries himself quickly, rubbing the fabric harshly over his skin before draping the towel over his neck. He’s gentler with me, patting me dry before bundling me up and grabbing my hand to lead me toward the vanity.

He opens a drawer and pulls out an unopened toothbrush, placing it down before meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Are you hungry?”

My stomach clenches at the thought of food, repelling the idea instantly. “Definitely not.”

Reaching back into the drawer, he pulls out another toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. He busies himself, opening my toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste on each brush, handing me mine after running it under the faucet. We stand there, shoulder to arm, staring at each other in the mirror as we brush our teeth, taking turns spitting into the sink.

Bending over the faucet, I rinse out my mouth and spit into the basin, placing my toothbrush on the counter before meeting Lincoln’s eyes in the mirror. I can’t read the expression on his face, but if I had to guess, it’s a mixture of exhaustion and relief, disbelief and resignation. It’s as complex as the man wearing the emotions.

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