Steam curls around her small frame as water traces every curve, catching light along her collarbone and sliding south. She tilts her head back, eyes closing, completely unhurried — like she has all the time in the world and knows exactly what that does to you.

You watch a single rivulet travel the length of her stomach and disappear. Her petite body fills the narrow shower in the best possible way, wet skin gleaming under the overhead light, nothing hidden, nothing rushed.

She reaches for the glass door and pushes it open — an invitation, not a question. The warm air spills out and hits you square in the chest.