She frowns. “But it’s full of water.”
“Yes.”
“And it has bubbles.”
“Also, yes.”
She narrows her eyes like she’s about to dismantle my argument with five-year-old logic. “And you sit in it.”
I nod. “That is correct.”
She crosses her arms. “Then it’s a pool.”
I sigh. “Fine. It’s a very tiny, very warm pool.”
Satisfied, she holds out her bright pink swimsuit covered in little starfish, holding it up triumphantly. “I love my pool swimsuit!”
I grin. “Good, because you’re going to need it.”
Lucy flings off her T-shirt without a second thought and wrestles her way into the swimsuit, arms getting momentarily tangled before she pops her head out through the right hole. She wiggles her toes against the floor and bounces slightly.
“I’m ready.”
“Almost,” I say, grabbing an equally pink dressing gown I can see peaking out of her backpack.
Lucy’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t need that.”
“You absolutely need this,” I declare solemnly.
She scowls. “Why?”
“Because,” I say, crouching down to her level, “it’s spa day rules.”
“I don’t know the rules," she says with a sad voice.
“Well, let me tell you.” I hold up a finger like I’m revealing ancient wisdom. “Rule number one: Bathrobes are very important. All spa guests must wear them on their way to the pool.”
Lucy narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because it makes you fancy.”
She tilts her head, clearly considering this. “Fancy like the ladies in the movies?”
“Exactly.”
She gasps, grabs the robe, and practically throws it around her shoulders like she’s stepping onto the red carpet. “Ooooh, I am fancy.”
I grin. “Rule number two: You have to walk like you’re a VIP… a very important person.”
She immediately stands taller, lifting her chin like she’s royalty. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” I confirm, tying her gown properly before grabbing my own. “I’ll just get quickly changed. Wait here for me, Lu,” I say, slipping into the bathroom across the hall that I had seen on the way in. I pull on my black one piece and my white dressing gown and return to Lucy.
With towels in hand, we make our way downstairs, Lucy practically floating like the Queen.
The back garden is just as ridiculous as the rest of the house—sprawling lawns, flower beds that look like something out of a National Trust estate, and next to the stone patio, a very inviting-looking hot tub, the water already bubbling in the afternoon air.
Lucy throws off her dressing gown dramatically onto a chair. “I’m going in first!”
