I could hear the smile in his voice. “Keep your eyes closed!”

Leaning back in the bathtub, I obeyed his wishes, grinning in spite of myself. “Be careful what you ask for, Keith,” I called out. “Come back soon or I might fall asleep in here.”

I heard socks move on carpet in our bedroom, a kind of whispering swoosh, and I leaned back further into the hot, scented water; the knots in my shoulders already starting to melt away.

I heard him enter the bathroom again, and I smiled, opened my mouth to say something.

“Keep your eyes closed until I say,” he said again, so I sighed, and waited. I felt movement close by, reached out for it with my hand.

“Nah-uh,” he said, catching my wrist in his own hand. “Now you can look.”

I opened my eyes, and giggled. Keith set a yellow rubber bath duck gently on the surface of the water beside me, then stood up and reached around the door frame. His hand came back holding his old saxophone, rescued from the pawn shop.

“When was the last time you were serenaded?”