Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you planning to do with that?”
“Therapy,” Lillian said, matter-of-fact. “You’ve been carrying tension since the flight. I could see it in your shoulders when you were pretending not to check your messages.”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
“Uh-huh.” Lillian gestured for her to turn. “Come on. Doctor’s orders.”
Rebecca hesitated, then sighed and shifted until her back faced Lillian. The first touch of warm oil against her skin drew aninvoluntary breath from her, and Lillian smiled, leaning closer to knead gently along the tight lines of muscle.
“You’re supposed to be enjoying this,” Lillian murmured.
“I am.”
“Your definition of enjoyment is very quiet.”
Rebecca let out a sound that was half laugh, half sigh. “Talking ruins it.”
Lillian hummed but said nothing more. Her hands moved in slow, deliberate circles, smoothing tension away from Rebecca’s neck, down her shoulders, along the elegant line of her spine. Bit by bit, Rebecca’s posture softened.
Outside, the waves whispered against the shore.
Lillian had seen her like this only rarely — unguarded, eyes closed, all that usual precision melted into stillness. It was like watching ice thaw in sunlight: subtle, beautiful, inevitable.
“You’re thinking,” Rebecca murmured, voice thick with relaxation.
“About you.”
Rebecca cracked one eye open. “Dangerous habit.”
“Addictive, actually.”
Rebecca reached up, caught Lillian’s hand, and kissed her wrist — a simple, tender gesture that said more than words ever could.
“You always do this,” Lillian whispered. “Pretend you’re unaffected, and then you do something that ruins me completely.”
Rebecca smiled without opening her eyes. “Good.”
For a long while, they stayed like that — quiet, the air heavy with the scent of salt and warmth and something unspoken.
Eventually, Lillian slid closer, resting her chin on Rebecca’s shoulder. “You know what I’ve realized?”
“Hm?”
“You don’t actually hate holidays.”
Rebecca gave a small laugh. “Don’t make wild assumptions.”
“You like them when they involve good weather, wine, and me.”
Rebecca turned her head slightly, dark eyes meeting green. “I’ll concede two out of three.”
Lillian pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Progress.”
They shifted, curling together on the couch as twilight deepened into night. The ocean’s voice grew louder through the open doors, steady and low. Candles flickered, and a soft breeze lifted the edge of the curtains.
Rebecca’s hand rested against Lillian’s leg, idle and tender. “You know,” she said quietly, “I used to think stillness was wasted time.”
“And now?”
