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“I'm a little surprised.”

He grins. “Get in the tub, Becks.”

I glance at him. “Are you joining me?”

“Was hoping you'd ask.”

Ten minutes later, I'm sitting between Bishop's legs in a bathtub big enough to qualify as a small swimming pool.

My back rests against his chest, his arms are wrapped around my waist, and warm water laps gently against my shoulders.

It's heaven. Actual heaven. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against him. “Okay,” I murmur. “I'm never leaving.”

“Works for me.”

“I'm serious. Tell Angela I've retired.”

“From proofreading?”

“From everything.”

His laugh vibrates against my back.

The bubbles smell like vanilla and lavender, and the water is warm enough to loosen muscles I didn't realize were tense.

Bishop drags his fingertips lazily along my forearm.

For a while, neither of us says anything. We just sit there.

The music drifts faintly through the open doorway. The candles flicker. Outside, Chicago glitters beneath a February sky.

I turn my head slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Where did you get all these candles?”

“Store.”

I elbow him. “Very helpful.”

“I'm a wealth of information.”

“And the flowers?”

“Also a store.”

“Bishop.”

He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Had some help.”

“From who?”

“Angela.”

I twist around. “My Angela?”

“She seemed like the kind of woman who knows where to buy flowers.”