Touch her waist.

It's a muggy day in the city and the air conditioning is broken. All the windows are open, and Roseanne stands, in a pair of shorts and a bikini top, with her face directly in front of the fan. It doesn't do much, just circulates the hot, dry air in the room, but it's better than nothing.

Roseanne jumps, a sudden patch of excess heat appearing against her waist. It's Peter's hand, gently steering her away from the fan and towards the door.

She expects to be irrationally angry, considering how awfully warm it is, but somehow the hand against her waist is soothing, giving off a strangely cool relief even though it is just as flushed with heat and damp with sweat as she is. She relishes it. "Where are we going?"

He chuckles, handing her a red-paint-spattered tank top he must have stolen from her room. She pulls it on. "I think a day in a nice air-conditioned museum is in order," he says. Roseanne smiles.

Even when he removes the hand, his touch lingers on her waist, a puzzling, delightful mix of hot and cold.