“We?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Yeah,” he says, “you think I’m letting you watch bad TV without me?”
I lean back against him,my body sinking into his chest as my legs tangle with his beneath the warm water. The soft scent of eucalyptus rises with the steam, curling around us like a cocoon.
Carter’s arms wrap snugly around my waist, his fingertips tracing slow, lazy patterns along my stomach. Each stroke sends a wave of calm through me, unraveling the knots I have been carrying.
“I desperately needed this,” I whisper, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder.
He doesn’t say much; he grunts in agreement. He reaches over the side of the tub without looking and hands me the iced matcha he picked up for me on the way home.
My lips twitch as I take it from him. “Ugh, thank you.”
He nuzzles his nose into the space behind my ear. “You’re welcome, baby.”
Jesus. That voice. That nickname. The casual way he says it, like it’s been mine all along.
I love him. I haven’t said it, but it’s there, pressed between us in the quiet, in every small gesture and lingering touch.
After our bath, my skin still hums from the heat and the feel of his hands on me. I watch him from the doorway as he stands at the sink, a thick towel slung low around his hips, arms crossed, looking every bit like a six-foot-seven grumpy cowboy who was just thrown into my life and stayed.
“Shit!” I blurt out, spinning on my heel, and bolt out of the bathroom like a girl on a mission.
Behind me, I hear him call out.
“The hell are you doing?”
I don’t answer. I’m too focused as I dig through my overnight bag in the bedroom with manic energy until I find what I’m looking for—my skincare pouch.
My holy grail.
With triumph in my eyes and rosewater-scented victory in my hands, I march back into the bathroom, where Carter is still standing by the sink, staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
He lifts a brow. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Enhancing your beauty,” I announce, holding up two rosewater sheet masks. “You, Carter Hayes, are in desperate need of hydration.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not putting that thing on my face.”
I start tearing open the packet, the scent of rose and mint already floating through the room. “Too late. It’s open. We’re committed.”
He grumbles but doesn’t move, as he watches me with that annoyed-puppy expression as I gently unfold the cold, gooey sheet mask. I press it to his face, gently.
He flinches. “Jesus, fuck, that’s cold!”
I giggle as I smooth it over the sharp planes of his cheeks. “Stop being a baby.”
He mutters something under his breath as he holds onto my waist, but I’m too busy admiring how ridiculous he looks. The sheet doesn’t quite fit his square jaw, and the cutouts stretch awkwardly over his too-intense eyebrows, only making him look more dramatic.
I hold up the mirror.
Carter glares at his reflection.
“Catalina, if you take a picture–”
