On a clear summer evening you walk the path to my door and up the steps. There you see a note pinned underneath the brass knocker, your name written upon the folded page.
Your brow furrows, wondering if I've had to leave suddenly. You think of how carefully you prepared for this night, taking in your polished black calfskin shoes, the crisp, creased white trousers, a narrow black belt encircling your waist. The sleeves are rolled up on your ironed blue cotton shirt, open at the throat, exposing tanned skin, fragrant from the shower and your own unique scent. Glancing at your watch, you confirm that the time is what we agreed upon, and open the note.
"Sweetheart," it reads. "The door is unlocked. Come inside, I'm waiting."
Your heart stops for one breathless moment as you contemplate the note, amused at your body's reaction to the relief that I am here. You tuck the note in the pocket of your chinos and turn the doorknob, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.
Inside, the room is lit by dozens of small candles that flicker in the soft breeze from the open windows. As your gaze adjusts to the dim interior, your first thought is that I'm not there. Your eyes turn to the stairway, where more candles line the risers, providing a path of light to the upper floor.
You toss your jacket on the sofa and make your way towards the stairs, your heart starting to beat hard in your chest at the thought of what you might find upstairs. A silver bucket rests near the newel post, a bottle of fine champagne nestled in the crushed ice. Two delicate crystal champagne flutes rest on the block of the post; you pop the cork of the champagne bottle, fill the glasses with the effervescent liquid and continue upstairs.
At the top of the landing, the pathway of candles lead towards the end of the hall. Not to the bedroom, which was your first thought, but the bathroom. You stop in front of the partially open door, taking a deep breath and running a hand over your hair. Everything seems to be in slow motion as you extend your hand and push the door open the rest of the way.
Trailing green ferns and twisting vines spill from hanging baskets and a skylight sends a shaft of summer moonlight into the room. Tall, sweet smelling candles create shadows within the forest of greenery and the scent sends your head spinning for a moment. Vases of deep red tulips bracket the sunken oversized tub and yellow potted daffodils reflect the candle flames.
Soft music spills from the stereo in sweet, liquid notes, and you wonder if you stare hard enough, you'll be able to see the notes floating in the air, dancing around the flickering pinpoints of light. Thick, fluffy towels are stacked on the floor next to the tub and a creamy sheepskin rug adorns the tiled floor. Several more candles decorate the ledge of the tub and marble countertops.
Bubbles float upon the surface of the bath, broken only by the area I occupy near one end of the oval tub. Visible from the shoulders up, foamy lather covers the swell of my breasts and streaks the line of my long slender neck. My fine blonde hair is piled upon my head, wayward strands escaping to brush my shoulders and neck. My green eyes reflect the candle flames surrounding the tub, the warm light creating a faint sheen of gold dust on my cheekbones. I exhale in pleasure as I see you walk in the door, holding the champagne glasses in one hand.
"I'm glad you're here. I've missed you so much," I say.
You walk to the edge of the tub and lower yourself to a crouch, offering me one of the champagne flutes, unable to tear your eyes away from the water lapping against my skin.
"It feels like it's been days since I've seen you last," you finally say.
Your hand reaches out and brushes a tendril of hair away from my face, the back of your fingers caressing my cheek and down my neck. I raise my champagne flute to you with a smile, and offer you a silent toast.