Bath Night Lessons

The bathroom in Ava’s family home was a pastel wonderland of chaos. Rubber duckies lined the edge of the tub like a tiny army, their beady eyes staring at Dave with what he swore was judgment. Fluffy towels in shades of lavender and mint hung crookedly on the rack, and the air smelled of strawberry shampoo and something vaguely floral—probably the candle flickering on the counter. The tub itself was a frothy sea of bubbles, the water sloshing gently as Ava, the pint-sized dictator of the evening, sat cross-legged in the center, her dark curls pinned up in a messy bun.

Dave, all 24 years of awkward limbs and good intentions, leaned against the sink, arms crossed, trying to look like he had any idea what he was doing. Babysitting wasn’t exactly his forte, but when Ava’s parents had begged him to step in for the night, he couldn’t say no. Not to them, and definitely not to the extra cash. But now, faced with the daunting task of bath night, he was starting to regret every life choice that led him here.

“Alright, General Bubblepants,” Dave said, forcing a grin as he gestured to the tub. “Your parents said you’ve gotta be squeaky clean by the time they get back. So, let’s get this over with. Scrub-a-dub-dub or whatever.”

Ava, all of eight years old but with the sharp tongue of a seasoned stand-up comic, rolled her eyes so hard Dave thought they might get stuck. She adjusted the plastic tiara perched on her head—a bath-time essential, apparently—and pointed a soapy finger at him. “First of all, David—” she emphasized his full name like she was scolding a toddler, “—you don’t just ‘get this over with.’ Bath time is a ritual. A sacred art. And second, you’re doing it all wrong. You’re supposed to pour the bubbles in a specific way. Didn’t they teach you anything in babysitter school?”

Dave blinked, caught off guard by the sass. “Babysitter school? Kid, I barely passed regular school. And what’s this ‘specific way’ nonsense? You pour the stuff in, it bubbles. Boom. Done.”

Ava scoffed, splashing a handful of water in his direction for emphasis. “Ugh, you’re hopeless. Watch and learn, peasant.” She grabbed the bottle of bubble bath from the edge of the tub, unscrewed the cap with an air of authority, and began drizzling it in slow, deliberate circles. “See? It’s about distribution. Even coverage. You can’t just dump it in like some kind of barbarian. Honestly, how do you even survive without me?”

Dave couldn’t help but laugh, despite the fact that he was now sporting a damp spot on his jeans from her splash attack. He crouched down beside the tub, resting his elbows on the edge, and shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? I’m supposed to be in charge here, not taking orders from a tiny tyrant in a tiara.”

Ava smirked, flicking a bubble at his nose. It landed with a soft pop, and she giggled. “In charge? Please. You couldn’t lead a rubber ducky parade. Now, hand me that loofah. I’m not about to let my royal skin get anything less than a five-star treatment.”

He sighed dramatically, reaching for the neon pink loofah on the counter and passing it to her with a mock bow. “Your Majesty. Anything else? Shall I fetch the royal shampoo or polish your tiny toes?”

She tilted her head, considering this with a seriousness that made Dave’s chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for. There was something about her commanding little presence—her sharp wit, her unapologetic bossiness—that was... disarming. He swallowed hard, pushing the thought away as quickly as it came. She’s a kid, you idiot. Get a grip.

“Don’t tempt me, David,” Ava said, her tone dripping with faux superiority as she scrubbed at her arm with the loofah. “I could have you running errands all night. But for now, you can sit there and look pretty. Or, well, as pretty as someone with zero bath-time skills can look.”

Dave snorted, but his mind was elsewhere. The steam from the tub was curling around them, the warmth seeping into his skin, and he found his gaze lingering on the way the bubbles clung to her small shoulders, the way the water glistened under the soft bathroom light. It was innocent—completely innocent—but there was a flicker of something in him, something dark and unbidden, that made his stomach twist. He shifted uncomfortably, dragging his eyes away to focus on a particularly smug-looking rubber duck instead.

“Hey, earth to Dave!” Ava’s voice snapped him out of it, and he blinked to find her staring at him, one eyebrow raised. “You zoning out on me? Geez, if I’m that boring, just say so. I’ll splash you again to keep things interesting.”

“No, no, I’m here,” he said quickly, forcing a chuckle. “Just... marveling at how someone so small can be so bossy. You ever think about toning it down a little? Maybe letting me pretend I’m the adult for, like, five minutes?”

Ava grinned, a wicked little flash of teeth, and leaned forward, resting her chin on the edge of the tub so she was closer to him. “Not a chance. You need me to keep you in line. Without my guidance, you’d probably drown in two inches of water. Or worse, forget the conditioner. Do you even know what conditioner does, David?”

He rolled his eyes, but the proximity made his pulse quicken in a way he hated himself for noticing. “Yeah, yeah, it makes your hair shiny or whatever. I’m not a total caveman. Now, are you gonna rinse off, or do I have to dump a bucket over your head?”

She gasped, clutching imaginary pearls. “You wouldn’t dare. I’m royalty, remember? You’d be banished from the kingdom of Bubbleland for such treason!”

“Try me, Your Highness,” he shot back, grabbing an empty plastic cup from the counter and holding it up like a weapon. “One more sassy comment, and it’s splash city.”

Ava squealed, ducking under the water for a moment before popping back up, her tiara askew and her face dripping. “Fine, fine! I’ll rinse. But only because I’m feeling generous. You’re welcome.”

Dave laughed, shaking his head as he handed her a washcloth. But even as he bantered with her, that flicker of something forbidden lingered in the back of his mind, a whisper he couldn’t quite silence. He told himself it was nothing—just the weirdness of the situation, the intimacy of bath time, the steam playing tricks on him. He’d keep it together. He had to.

As Ava scrubbed away, humming some made-up tune about being the queen of the tub, Dave sat back on his heels, staring at the tiled floor. The water was cooling now, the bubbles starting to fade, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of something he didn’t fully understand. Something dangerous. Something he wasn’t sure he could—or wanted to—step away from.

“Alright, peasant,” Ava’s voice cut through his thoughts again, sharp and demanding as ever. “Time to dry me off. And don’t skimp on the fluffy towel. I expect only the best.”

Dave forced a smile, grabbing the lavender towel from the rack. “Yes, ma’am. Let’s get you out of there before you turn into a prune with a crown.”

But as he helped her out of the tub, wrapping the towel around her tiny frame, he knew the real challenge wasn’t wrangling a bossy eight-year-old. It was wrangling the thoughts he couldn’t let himself entertain—not now, not ever.