Nothing happens

The conversation flows smoothly for another half hour, the warm water and easy banter masking the slight underlying tension of your secret arrangement with Samantha. Tom and Claire turn out to be great company, sharing recommendations for a few hidden-gem restaurants nearby Chicago. Samantha plays the part of the devoted wife flawlessly, occasionally leaning into your side, and calling you "honey."

Eventually, it's time to leave as the four of you have been soaking long enough. Tom jokes as he gets out, "And some salt and pepper, vegetables, and bullion, and we have a tub size soup."

"Maybe I should have brought some eggs," his wife adds, clearly referring to the Japanese onsen tamago.

You and Samantha chuckle. "Maybe we'll run into you later?" you say while shaking Tom's hand.

"Definitely. Maybe breakfast? This hotel's spread is quite good."

You turn to Samantha. "Hear that Honey? More time in bed," you say, intending for one meaning, but looking at her rapidly reddening cheeks, she seems to understand the other.

"So affectionate," Claire says, grinning. "Well, don't let us hold you back."

Once they disappear down the hall, Samantha lets out a massive breath, her shoulders dropping. "Oh my god! John, I just say whatever comes to my mind! I am so sorry, but I panicked!"

"You handled it like a pro, Honey," you tease.

She laughs. "Don't start. Come on, let's get out of here before anyone else drops in."

You both head back to your respective rooms to dry off and change out of your damp clothes. You wear a robe, completely ready to unwind for the rest of the night.

Ding-dong.

The sharp chime of your room's doorbell cuts through the silence. You glance at the clock. It's getting late. Who could that be?