Impulse nibbles: just imagine the look on Pearl’s face if Rose drew the robe out of reach. If she cut a few steps back, snickering -- if Pearl would be willing to make chase in the buff.

But that would probably trash any chance of this happening again. And Rose likes having her here. So instead, she half-offers, half-helps Pearl into the fluffy coral-colored thing, maneuvering her shoulder-towel when appropriate. (The robe is far too roomy in every dimension, but still cozy and plush, Rose is sure.)

Success. With an accomplished sigh, she takes a step back for a moment -- layers Pearl with an appraising up-and-down -- and reaches for her hand.

“God! How aren’t you blue by now?” Rose shivers cartoonishly and tugs her guest the handful of feet to the couch. Then she settles herself in the middle, humming low. ‘Inordinately content’ would be a good way to describe her look.

“Sit back against the armrest, and --” Her palm makes a muffled little pat against her lap, where she’s spread another towel, “-- kick on up here! Your legs are still a little damp.”

Hardly enough to warrant towel-drying, but Rose strives to be… thorough.