Page 94 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“You want to take a bath?” he says suddenly.
“A bath?”
“Look at you. Your lips are blue. You can warm up in there while your clothes dry.”
I glance at the tub behind me. It’s a large, built-in Jacuzzi-style bathtub that I’m guessing was here when his parents bought this place. The rest of the bathroom is neat and inviting, with pale-gray walls decorated with a large, framed ink drawing of a stingray.
“I do love a bubble bath. But I don’t want to put you out. I just showed up here without—”
“It’s fine. You’re here until your clothes are dry, anyway.” He crosses to the bathroom closet and pulls out a new bar of soap. “No bubbles or salts or anything, but I do have soap.”
I take the small box from him. My fingers are truly very cold. He turns on the tap and checks the water temperature with his hand before plugging the drain.
“Thanks, Daniel.”
“Oh, wait.” He procures a bottle of Old Spice shower gel. “This might work for bubbles.”
I press my lips together, holding back a laugh as he pours some of the shower gel into the running water. I feel so cared for. It’s adorable.
“Look at that,” I marvel, as bubbles foam up in the water. “Works perfectly. Now I feel swindled by the bubble-bath industry.”
“Those bubble tycoons will take you for all you’re worth.” We stand there awkwardly for a second, and then he says, “Well, enjoy,” and gives a funny little salute as he closes the door.
I hang the towel on the rack, put my wet clothes in the dryer, and gingerly step into the bath. The water is steamy hot; it feels so good on my cold skin that I let out a sigh as I sink into it.
“This was a good idea,” I mumble to myself.
The rumble of the dryer and the sliver of night sky outside the narrow window create a very relaxing ambience. I sink down until my chin is submerged in bubbles, and then I startle up again when I hear Daniel’s voice.
“By the way, there’s shampoo and conditioner in the shower. You can use those, too.”
I laugh. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I don’t need to wash my hair.”
“All right, just wanted to offer.”
“Yeah. It takes a long time when you have this much hair,” I call back.
There’s a pause, and I figure he’s gone back down the hall. But then I hear, “I could do it.”
“What?” I sit stock-still, staring at my toes sticking out of the bubbles.
“I could wash your hair. If you want.”
I wait for a laugh or ajust kiddingor anever mind, crazy idea. But he doesn’t say anything else. I’m dying to know what expression is on his face right now as he waits for my answer.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
The door opens slowly, and a flushed Daniel peeks around it. Then he mutters, “Probably need a cup,” and retreats again. He returns a moment later with a white coffee mug.
Wordlessly, he gathers the shampoo and conditioner, then sits on the edge of the bath.
“Have you always wanted to be a hairdresser or something?” I ask.
“Nah.” He doesn’t look embarrassed anymore as he dips the mug into the bathwater. “I just have a thing for your hair.”
Now I’m the one with flaming cheeks.
“Oh.” Because, really, what else is there to say to that?
