Return to lobby

You peel yourself off the wall, grab a box of tissues from the shelf, and hand it to Lily. She dabs at her face without any particular urgency, grinning the whole time, then tosses the tissue in the wastebasket by your desk. Nobody bothers getting dressed. Jean tucks his sketch pad under his arm, and the three of you file back out into the lobby, still bare, still damp with sweat, the fire still roaring like it’s been waiting for you.

You duck into the kitchen and come back with a bottle of red and three glasses. The cork gives with a satisfying pop. You pour generously, hand one to Lily, one to Jean, and settle into the deep leather chair closest to the hearth. Lily curls up on the rug in front of the fire, knees drawn up, glass balanced on one knee. Jean takes the couch, stretching out with the easy posture of a man who has never once felt awkward naked.

For a while, nobody says much. The rain hammers the roof. The fire spits and settles. You sip your wine and watch the two of them. Lily’s skin gone amber in the firelight, Jean’s lean frame loose and relaxed and realize you can’t remember the last time you sat around naked with anyone. Lauren, sure, but that was always in the bedroom, behind closed doors, never just... sitting. It feels absurdly simple. A bottle of wine, a fire, three bodies with nothing to hide behind.

Jean eventually breaks the quiet to talk about light, how the fire makes Lily’s hair look like it’s burning from the inside, how he wants to paint her exactly like this. Lily laughs at him and tells him he’s been painting her since the day they met and he’s never once gotten it right. He agrees. They pass the bottle back and forth. You refill glasses twice.

When the wine is gone and the fire has burned down to glowing coals, Lily stretches, arms overhead, and yawns. Jean checks his watch and stands, offering her a hand up. She takes it.

Jean glances out the tall lobby windows, where the rain has thinned to a fine drizzle against the glass. “It should let up by morning,” he says, almost to himself. “If the sky clears, the peaks will be worth painting. First light on the ridge, before the mist burns off.” He tucks his pad under his arm. “I’ll be out there at dawn.”

Lily rolls her eyes fondly. “He’ll be out there at dawn,” she repeats to you, as if translating. “Which means I’ll be bored and alone starting at dawn.”

You walk them to the door. The drizzle catches the porch light, turning it into a soft halo. Lily turns back on the top step, looks you up and down one last time, and smiles.

“Goodnight, Mark.”

They disappear down the path toward the cabin, two dark shapes in the rain, and you stand in the doorway a moment longer than you need to.