Bath Spa
"Hydrotherapist Victoria continues two thousand years of healing at Bath's thermal springs. When wellness researcher James needs ancient wisdom, she immerses him completely."
Bath's thermal springs had healed people since before the Romans built their great baths—the only naturally hot springs in Britain, mineral water rising from miles underground. I'd practised hydrotherapy here for twenty-five years.
"Ms. Wells?"
The man in my consultation room was clearly academic—the research questions, the rigorous approach, but also genuine curiosity about what science couldn't fully explain.
"Victoria. And you're not here for a treatment."
"I'm here to understand why treatments work. James Morrison, wellness researcher. I'm writing about the evidence behind traditional therapies."
"The evidence is two thousand years of people getting better."
"Anecdotal evidence." But he smiled. "I want to understand the mechanism."
Understanding became his obsession. Over months, James observed treatments, interviewed patients, tried to reconcile his scientific training with outcomes that seemed to exceed what the minerals alone could explain.
"Why do you do this?" he asked one evening. The spa was closed; we were sitting by the King's Bath.
"Because the waters work. Because modern medicine treats symptoms while this—" I gestured at the steaming pool "—treats people. Whole people, not just bodies."
"That's holistic."
"That's practical. Holistic is what doctors call it when they can't explain why something works."
"I can't explain why this works. Not fully." His hand found mine. "Victoria. I've researched wellness for fifteen years. I've never found anything that challenged my assumptions like this place."
"The springs don't care about assumptions. They just heal."
"You heal. The springs are the tool. You're the healer." He moved closer. "Can I learn what you know?"
We kissed by the ancient pool, his researcher's mouth warm against my therapist's lips. The steam seemed to embrace us, centuries of healing blessing the moment.
"My flat overlooks the Roman baths," I said.
"Show me where healers rest."
The flat was spa professional—oils, equipment, the evidence of a life devoted to wellness. The view of the ancient baths below was worth more than the furniture. James looked around with appreciation.
"This is sanctuary."
"This is just home."
"Your home is sanctuary. That says everything about you."
We made love while steam rose from the springs outside, our bodies finding rhythms that the thermal waters had taught me—patient, persistent, penetrating deep. James touched me with researcher's attention—observing, noting, trying to understand.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"I'm built for water."
"You're built for healing." He kissed down my body. "The most therapeutic touch I've felt."
We came together while millennia of healing continued below, both of us finding completion that felt like immersion—warm, enveloping, transformative. When I gasped his name, it was with the same satisfaction I felt at a successful treatment.
"Stay," I said.
"In Bath?"
"In my waters. In my life." I touched his face. "The research will finish. The healing won't."
He stayed. The book became definitive—acknowledging mystery alongside mechanism. And now there's a researcher who helps at the spa, who found in ancient waters evidence he couldn't measure.
"We're healing together now," James said one night.
"We're flowing together. Like the springs."
"Is that different?"
"It's better. Healing ends. Flowing continues." I pulled him closer. "We continue."
The waters still rise. The healing still happens. And now there's a researcher who became a healer's partner, who found in Bath's thermal depths everything his science had been seeking.