At dinner, he nudged her shoulders with a smile. “Sit a bit taller; it helps digestion.” The phrase was affectionate, scholarly, and impossible to argue with without sounding anti-digestion. She straightened up, amused by the courtly tap of his finger. “Ergonomic love,” he said, and they laughed.
The first time she skipped the second shower, he said “No worries” and meant it, or perhaps tried to. He wiped the doorknob after she touched it, then the light switch, then his own hands, moving casually, humming. A lemon brightness lingered in the air after him. She did not attach much importance to the event.