Bruce stepped forward then, unable to stay apart any longer.
He took the sponge from her hand without asking, poured more soap, and began to wash her back in long, sweeping strokes.
Sophie let her head fall forward, a soft sigh escaping her lips. His hands were larger, firmer, but no less gentle, tracing the line of her spine, the slope of her shoulders, the delicate wings of her shoulder blades.
When he reached the base of her back, he paused, then let the sponge drift lower, slow and reverent.
They moved together like that, her guiding the water, him guiding the sponge, until every trace of soap was gone and only warm, clean skin remained.
The air between them felt charged now, quiet but humming, like the moment before thunder.
