The Old Town Sauna – Part 2: Cold Plunge

The kiss in the steam was slow and salty. Jonas held her face in his hands as if she might melt. When they came up for air, he whispered, "Traditionally, now, we go outside."

"Outside? It is minus twelve."

"That is the tradition."

"You are insane." She was already laughing.

They bolted up the cellar stairs wrapped in towels and out into the courtyard, where snow lay thigh-deep and untouched. The cold hit like a bell. Katrin shrieked. Jonas whooped. They fell backwards into a soft white drift, steaming like two loaves, staring at the sky where fat flakes spun down out of the dark.

"This is the best idea you've ever had," she gasped.

"It is the only one I have ever had."

He kissed her again, cold lips, hot skin, and they scrambled back inside, hand in hand, to the guesthouse kitchen where the stove still glowed. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She leaned into his chest and felt his heart thump against her cheek.

"Stay," he said. "Not only because of the trains."

"I know." She tilted her face up. "I'd like to. If you would."

His room was at the top of the house, under the beams, with a heavy quilt and a window full of falling snow. They undressed each other slowly, warm hands at last, laughing at cold toes. He was careful and attentive, she was bold and clear, and the quilt swallowed the world while snow whispered on the roof. For a long time there was only breath, soft talk and the creak of old beams.

In the morning the trams still were not moving. Katrin woke to the smell of fresh bread and the sight of Jonas in the doorway with a tray.

"Train?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," said Katrin, pulling him back under the quilt. "Maybe the day after."

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