[She looks at the wine again, contemplating whether or not she will have another glass. Sometimes, at home, in her own bathroom, she would run a bath in her jacuzzi tub and enjoy a glass of wine; the mild bubbles and the steamy water are reminiscent to those days, when the world was less complicated and she was even more set in her stubborn way of thinking.
After a moment of contemplation, she rises from the water, her wet towel dripping on him slightly as she moves close to the basket behind where he is sitting in order to rummage through for the other wine glass. She can stand to have just one more. If she is going to enjoy the water to its fullest, why not immerse her body and her mind in relaxation for just a little while? She only needs to keep conversation light, about anything other than her world, and make sure that Oliver lives up to his promise not to come close to her.
The towel has ridden up on her hip a little bit and the steam makes it so difficult to see that she doesn't notice it. She's also having trouble keeping the towel fastened as she tries to pour the wine, but somehow manages, though she fills hers a little too high and has to sip it before she can return to her spot on the other side. As she takes a small sip, her eyes lower to look at him, very much aware of his hairless chest and the steam rising up to his jaw to wet his lips.
She clears her throat when she removes the glass from her lips, still rooted in the standing position, more or less towering over him.]
It does somewhat remind me of home.
[And that is subject matter that she JUST told herself she wasn't going to talk about.]