22. Natural Habitat

22

Natural Habitat

Zane

The spa is not my scene. I’ve never actually been to one, but on paper, it’s everything I despise. Indoors. Warm. People. Daisy actually snorted when I told her where I was going, and I didn’t have any retort. Because snorting was the appropriate answer.

We stroll into the spa lobby that’s decorated in limestone and dark wood paneling. A seating area with comfortable-looking couches and armchairs is on the left, and on the right, there’s a reception counter framed by a couple of tall plants. I can already feel myself getting stifled by the stuffy atmosphere, which is enhanced by the incense they’re burning and the zen music playing on the speakers. And in the span of a nanosecond, I just went from nervous to completely uncomfortable. Must be a new record.

We are greeted by a blonde receptionist I don’t know. Probably a seasonal employee.

“Hi,” Ivy says. “We have a reservation at five for a couple’s massage. My name is Ivy Clark, but it might be under Ross.”

The receptionist types on her keyboard for a moment. “Right. I see it here. The honeymoon special.”

Ivy’s face reddens, and her body tenses. “Oh n—”

“Yes, that’s right,” I say, putting my arm around her. The side of her mouth tilts up in an awkward grin, and she throws me a grateful glance. “I’m Zane, her husband.” I don’t mind pretending again. It’s nothing compared to the pain she must endure every time she has to explain her situation.

“Right,” Ivy says, leaning against me.

“Perfect. Well, the changing rooms are right here,” the receptionist says, pointing to a couple of doors behind us, “and you can use the facilities before and after your treatment. Enjoy. ”

“Thank you,” we both say, and she hands us some robes, slippers, and towels.

“See you on the other side,” Ivy murmurs, retreating into the women’s changing rooms.

With a deep breath, I head into the men’s area. The space is empty, but it still feels way too small for some reason. Rows of lockers line both sides of the room, with benches in the middle. I make quick work of my clothes, throw them in a locker, and put the robe on. It’s a little short, ending right under my knees, and the sleeves stop awkwardly a good three inches from my wrists.

When I step into the spa, it takes me a few seconds to adjust to the low lighting. A couple of fireplaces host roaring fires. Other than that, the only lighting comes from tiny LEDs on the ceiling that are clearly on the “warm” setting. A bunch of loungers and couches frame a sprawling rectangular pool, where a couple is swimming. At the far corner is a separate hot tub, a set of showers, and a sign that says “Hammam” and “Sauna” with an arrow pointing to a corridor. On my left is a long hallway, and right before it, a seating area with couches. Musky steam is wafting from a few conic diffusers at each corner of the room. The whole atmosphere is stuffy, hot, and humid—just like I imagine Florida would be. But for some reason, I don’t hate it. It’s just different, foreign .

The door to the women’s changing room opens, and Ivy steps out in her bathrobe, her hair tied in a messy bun. Where my robe is clearly too small for me, hers is a little big. She had to roll up her sleeves, and the hem of the robe lands at her ankles.

“Should we try the pool first?” she whispers, nodding toward the water.

“Sure,” I say in my normal voice.

She stifles a giggle. “Shh!”

Right, people are relaxing. Let’s add the whispering requirement to the list of why this place isn’t my element.

I feel like I’m being extremely noisy as we make our way to the loungers, even though I’m trying my best to tread quietly. But my slippers squeak with every step, and my heart pounds loudly in my ears.

But that’s nothing compared to the way it rattles when Ivy takes off her bathrobe, draping it neatly on the lounger. I try to force myself not to look, but I can’t. My eyes are instantly drawn to her body. She’s wearing a one-piece black bathing suit, but the way it clings to her skin sends a prickling sensation through my whole body.

She turns to look at me, and I quickly avert my eyes, taking off my own robe. And I might be going crazy, but as I put it down, I feel Ivy’s gaze raking my body the same way mine swept hers just seconds before .

We walk to the pool and step inside using the stairs. The water is warm, way too warm for my taste. But with every step, my body relaxes, and I begin to enjoy the soothing sensation it brings.

We paddle slowly to the other end, and I stop beneath a large cascade jet. The water splashes loudly on my shoulders, relieving the tension. Okay, maybe I could get used to this.

Ivy sits in the hot tub corner of the pool, and I join her.

“So,” she says softly. “How’s your first impression of the spa?”

I laugh way too loudly, even though I was going for a casual, light chuckle. “I like it,” I whisper as best I can. “A little warm, but it feels nice.”

“Right?” She closes her eyes, extending her arms along both sides, clearly enjoying the touch of the water.

Damn, this woman is beautiful. The way her messy bun secures her brunette hair gives me a clearer look at her flawless face. She’s not wearing any makeup, yet her skin looks smooth, and the slight flush of her cheeks is exquisite. Absolute perfection, inside and out. I can’t comprehend how every single person who gets to know Ivy doesn’t fall in love with her instantly. Well, maybe they do. Maybe she left behind a trail of broken hearts before someone finally managed to crush hers. I still don’t get how that moron could have done that. But even if it might sound cruel, I’m glad he left her. I’m glad she didn’t settle for that prick and marry someone who clearly didn’t deserve her.

We soak in the jacuzzi area for another ten minutes or so before heading to the sauna. We barely step foot in the warm room before I feel my chest constrict. An old man is lying down on a bench, perfectly still. I wonder for a second if he’s breathing, until I see his chest rising ever so slowly. What’s wrong with these people? How can this be how they relax?

Ivy sits, looking at me with a slight frown, and I scrunch my eyebrows in response. “Sorry. I can’t,” I whisper before getting the heck out of this death chamber.

Once I reach the pool area, I take a deep breath, only it’s spoiled by that musky essential oil thingy. I dart to the shower area and set it to cold before stepping under the shower head.

I almost moan in relief.

“There you are.” Ivy’s voice chimes through the loud water crashing on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I turn the water off and give her an apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s way too hot for me in there. I’d melt.”

She bites her lip, a hazed look on her face. “Yeah . . .”

“You can go, though. I’ll wait for you out here. I’d hate to ruin it for you. ”

She waves her hand in dismissal. “No problem. I’ve always preferred the hammam, anyway. I’m a Floridian. I like my heat more humid,” she jokes.

“Do they have a snow room? That’d be more my vibe.”

She chuckles. “They do, actually. Usually, after the sauna or hammam, you go into the ice room and rub ice all over your body.”

I balk. “And you call that relaxation? This is insane.”

“Well, said like that, it does sound kind of crazy,” she says, her green eyes twinkling. “Do you want to try it? I’m not usually a fan, but I’ll do it with you.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, because those are the only words I want to say to Ivy. I don’t want to be like her dumb ex-fiancé.

We go into the hammam, and it’s absolute torture. There’s so much steam filling the room, I can barely see anything. Which sucks, because the best part of doing stuff with Ivy is watching her enjoy herself.

“Are you okay?” she says after a few minutes.

“Yeah.” I nod, steeling myself. I can do this. Besides, I’ll be rewarded by the snow afterwards. Ivy stands up and grabs a glove from a box I didn’t even notice. “What are you doing? ”

“I’m going to scrub myself,” she says. “The steam opens up our pores, and rubbing your body with a horsehair glove takes away all the dead skin. Try it”

“Isn’t that a little unsanitary? To use the same glove.”

She chuckles as she starts rubbing the glove on her leg. And just like that, the temperature rises again. I didn’t even think that was possible. “They’re single-use. When you’re done, you put them in the trash outside.”

“Oh.” I bob my head in understanding. Grabbing one of the gloves, I mimic Ivy’s movements, though mine are a little less graceful. Not to mention the exercise itself is making me sweat like crazy.

Finally, Ivy announces that we can go, and I practically run out of the hammam. She chuckles, and suddenly, all that torture was worth it because she looks happy, relaxed, and I’m glad I got to do that for her.

“All right, let’s get you back into your natural habitat,” she jokes.

“Yes, please.”

We walk to the ice room, which is really just a small, open room with ice dripping from the ceiling into a large bucket. Ivy plunges her hands into the bucket and rubs ice on her arm, shivering in the process.

“Come on, big boy. Don’t let me suffer on my own,” she calls out .

All right. Let’s do this. As unappealing as it sounds, I’m sure it’s more bearable than sitting in the sauna or hammam. I imitate Ivy’s moves and rub ice over my arms and thighs. To my surprise, it’s not that bad. Once the initial sting passes, it’s actually kind of soothing, numbing.

After a few seconds, she lets out a growl of frustration. “I can’t anymore.” She scurries out of the room, grabbing her robe and enveloping herself in it.

“Oh, really?” I say, rubbing my stomach. “I could do this all day.”

A laugh bursts out of her. “Now who’s insane?”

I keep going for a few more minutes. Eventually, even I start to feel chilled, so I get out and dry myself with the towel before putting my robe on.

“Should we just go to the waiting room and hang out there before our treatment?” she asks, checking her watch. “It’s in fifteen minutes.”

I nod, following her to the reception area where another essential oil diffuser awaits and the zen ambience music seems a notch louder. Ivy grabs a glass of cucumber water, offering me some, but I only drink my water straight.

There’s no one else here, I realize as we sit down on the couch. I take a moment to reflect on the insanity happening right now. I, Zane Harden, am in a spa, about to undergo a treatment with the most gorgeous girl on the planet. All of this feels completely off, yet so right at the same time. It’s so far detached from my normal life that somehow, it makes sense. It’s as if this is where I have to be. Fate. Like Ivy said, sometimes things are out of our control. And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I’d never be here if fate wasn’t involved somehow, steering me.

“Wait,” I say with a hint of worry. “It’s not a hair removal thing, is it?”

She chokes out a laugh. “What? Of course not. It’s a massage.”

“Just checking. I know city men are a little different from regular men,” I mumble, but it sounds more like a grunt.

She chuckles again, her eyes settling on me. “Scared of a little pain, Harden?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, that’s not pain. That’s torture .”

“Tell that to every girl on the planet who has to shave before going on a date.”

I shake my head. “I’d tell them to quit doing it. Nature is beautiful, and no one should suffer like that.”

“Amen to that,” she says, raising her paper glass.

“So, I was thinking,” I begin, not really sure how to play this except straightforwardly. “Would you like to go snowshoeing with me tomorrow afternoon? It could be fun. A way to experience the mountain in a different way.”

Her beautiful lips curl into a smile. “Sure, I’d love to.”

“Great. I have the equipment and everything. We can go after our lesson.” I kind of want to press further and ask her to lunch, but I don’t want to push it. That would sound way too much like a date, and that’s not what I’m going for.

Two masseuses wearing beige uniforms stride out from the corridor, and after confirming that we’re indeed the lucky honeymoon couple, they take us to a double cabin where they ask us to undress and put on a tiny pair of plastic underwear. Then, they leave us alone to change.

I hold the skimpy object with the tip of my finger. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m putting that on—or that it’ll even fit.”

Ivy barks out a laugh, shaking her head. “Men. You’re all the same.”

“Just saying it as it is. Not to mention, this thing looks incredibly uncomfortable.”

She scrunches her nose. “You’re not wrong about that. You can keep your bathing suit on. I have to change since I’m wearing a one-piece. Um, can you turn around?”

Heat bubbles in my chest. “Yeah, of course. ”

I turn the other way and try not to dwell on the fact that Ivy is undressing right behind me. Instead, I focus on how the cold ice felt on my skin earlier.

“I’m done,” she says after a moment. When I turn around, she’s already lying on her stomach, her body draped in the large, fluffy towel.

I do the same, and soon after, the masseuses knock and enter the room to begin our treatment.

They let us choose our essential oil for the massage, and I go with pine because it seems fitting.

The massage therapist’s pressure is firm, but nowhere near strong enough that I can really feel it. She asks me a couple of times how it is, and I ask for more pressure. But the third time, I say it’s better. Poor girl. I don’t want her to break her arms working on me.

Suddenly, the door opens and closes in a whoosh. I don’t pay too much attention to it, but then, whispers fill the room. I turn my head to glance at Ivy, who’s clearly also wondering what’s going on.

Just when I’m about to ask, my masseuse says softly in my ear, “I’m sorry, sir. But there is an urgent call for you.”