Oh, and she'd get back in for him, readily, but for now she strokes his hair and his face and his arms and his back and she's almost teary when she says back, "I'm sorry. I just. I wanted." You she doesn't say but it's almost always him and she pressing her face against his as she breathes in his smell. And it's like horses and the lake and the sun and maybe he needs the bath, but she doesn't care. She wanted and she didn't want to wait and she still wants.