Lee enters the bathroom without switching on the light, drops the blasted satchel on the tile floor, and leans heavily on the sink, the porcelain cool against his clenching fingers. How could Amanda know the effect it would have on him to reach for his jacket like that, as if she would take hold of it by the lapels and slip it off his shoulders without his help? He allows himself to imagine her loosening his tie—the silky sound of the material sliding through the knot and the expression in her lovely, mysterious eyes as she raises her gaze to lock onto his.
He inhales shakily and turns on the taps, then cups his hands under the water and tosses it upwards. Again and again he laves his face, wanting to rid himself of the grime and sweat of travel and fear. Blindly, he scoops the curved soap from its scallop-shaped dish and revolves it in his hands. Amanda's scent rises gently from the foam. Well, part of Amanda's scent; the rest is subtle, flowery perfume and something else…something crispy and fresh, like toast. He rubs his face with the fragrant lather, thinking that he's losing it, he's losing it…What is he losing? His chance at something more than friendship with Amanda? More, even, than partnership?
He hollows his fingers under the faucet again and splashes, feeling the warm water run into the hair by his temples. What he is losing, he thinks slowly, is his habit of defensiveness. He has no desire left to keep Amanda at arm's length. A desire "against" has somehow slowly transformed into a desire "for." How long did he shove this realization roughly away? Six months, a year, two years? His expression in the mirror looks scared, even to him. Scared and startled. And if she chooses Joe, or backs away from him, her regret failing to soften the rejection—God, how could he stand it?
He reaches for the white guest towel on the rack and buries his face in it, rubbing hard, the loops catching on his unshaven cheeks. He pauses. There's something stitched into the towel, something slightly scratchy along the hem. He draws back to examine it. Roses. Just a line of dancing roses. How like Amanda to choose such a thing. He smiles sadly, carefully replaces the towel on the rack, and rolls his shoulders in his suit jacket. He has promised himself to take a stand. Now he must find out if that stand has come too late.