James arrived home to find his wife in the master bathroom, buried under a mound of bubbles, a washcloth draped over her beloved face. A sight he’d seen almost daily for years now, but which never failed to both amuse and arouse him.

He set his offering down on the vanity and perched on the edge of the tub. “Honey, how long have you been in here?”

She peeled back a corner of the cloth to peer at him. “I don’t know. Possibly hours.”

“Tough day at work?” He trailed his fingers in the hot water. “Do you need a little pick-me-up?”

Around the holidays, she toiled for endless hours in the back room of her bakery, cranking out an astounding number of pies, decorated cookies, and other delicious holiday treats on a daily basis. She started her days early and ended them tired, and he always worried about her at this time of year. But winter was his own business’s slow season, so he helped out however he could.

Like now, for instance.

The bubbles near her hip were thinning, he noted with approval. He helped them along with a few swirls of the water, and suddenly he could see Paris, he could see France, he could see his wife’s total lack of underp—

“A pick-me-up, huh?” She removed the washcloth from her face, tossed it onto the bath mat, and eyed his busy fingers in the water. “If I’m interpreting that phrase correctly, consider me completely on board with your plan.”

Then she glanced at the counter, and her eyes widened. “But first, is that…uh…”

“A cake?” He turned his head to contemplate the monstrosity. “In theory. I baked it yesterday and hid it in my workshop until today.”

“You made me a cake?” Now she was squinting at him, her head tilted. “You realize I own an actual bakery, right?”

He shrugged. “You’re busy. And I wanted to do something special for you today.”

A wicked grin curved her wide mouth. “Move your hand about six inches to the right.”

“Something else special.” He got up and brought to the cake closer to her. “Something involving exploding eggs and melted icing and a call from the fire department.”

“Baby, you’re all the sweetness I need.” She wasn’t even looking at the misshapen mound on the plate anymore. Instead, she was gazing at him, her blue eyes soft. “But thank you for making the cake.”

“You’re welcome.” Keeping the plate carefully level, he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her mouth. “I love you.”

She smiled up at him. “I love you too. That said, I’m not sure what’s so special about tod—”

She sat up with a jerk. The water splashed over the edge of the tub, then settled to just below her breast. He was only human, so he took a moment to admire the view.

Her smile transformed into a pleased laugh. “Eight years! Today makes eight years!”

She’d finally deciphered what he’d drawn on the cake with two shaky loops of the premade icing. In her defense, it did look more like the outline of a mangy owl than a number, so a certain amount of confusion was understandable.

“Yup. It’s your anniversary.” It was also a long, promising time to remain cancer-free, although he hoped the number of years would eventually stretch into infinity. “Congratulations, honey.”

He put the cake on the counter. Bending down, he kissed the scar from her mastectomy, the smooth curve of her shoulder, and her temple, where her hair swept back into its ever-present ponytail.

That distinctive hair glowed pale in the light of the setting sun, framing her pretty face like a nimbus. Not blond anymore, not since it grew back after chemo. Silver.

Just as beautiful as blond. More so, in fact.

He loved her hair. Loved her scar.

That halo of silver was not only gorgeous, but undeniable, physical proof of what a gloriously stubborn fighter he’d married. And because of that scar, the surgery it represented, she was still his wife. Still his partner and friend and—

His heart. She was still his heart and his world.

“Eight years. Which means next week is our anniversary.” She walked her wet fingers up his leg. “I have big plans for you.”

Given where her hand strayed, he could guess at some of those plans, and he approved.

But his were more urgent.

He’d promised her a pick-me-up, and he was a man of his word.

Stripping down to nothing took less than a minute, and then he stood naked in front of his wife with his fists on his hips and his interest more than evident.

She shook her head. “Show-off.”

Maybe just a little. But soon enough, his hands would make her forget all about it.

“Move over, woman.” More water splashed over the edge of the tub as he climbed inside. “I have work to do.”

Work he loved, for the woman he loved.

He figured he could do work like this for a lifetime.

Elizabeth was giggling as he nibbled at her neck, her hands sliding over his chest and moving downward, beneath the warm water.

And more, he amended. A lifetime and more.

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