Abi playfully swatted him and his scratchy beard away from her, turning to cut the water since they were at the very least mostly clean from the soap running down them. He seemed a lot better than he had been a few hours before, which she was happy about in kind.
The idea of fulfilling the promise of helping him shave was enticing. "Do you trust me with a straight razor, old man?" she asked, opening the door and reaching for the towels. It had been a secret - or not so secret - fantasy of hers, to shave his face and get that amount of trust from Hemingway. "I might knick your pretty face."