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I can’t imagine how disappointed they’d be if they knew the woman they’re trying to romance now isn’t the same one they’ve been falling for. If Scarlett knows they’re into her, and she did this anyway, I’m going to be so mad at her.
I start washing the breakfast dishes in the sink, figuring it’s the one small job that does actually need done. After that, I start cleaning the already sparkling counter tops.
Every surface in the room is practically gleaming.
The oven looks brand new when I peek inside.
Even the toaster and microwave look like they get scrubbed after every use, and there’s no trace of dust underneath either when I move them to check.
They can’t be using this kitchen to cook. There’s no way it’s a working kitchen when it’s this clean.
I take a look inside the fridge, hoping to find something that needs to be cleaned, and I find the most organized, tidily arranged food storage system that’s easily as clean as the rest of the room, that I actually think about getting Scarlett’s phone out to take pictures so I can organize my fridge exactly the same way when I get home.
I force myself to resist that urge as I close the door, but only because it’s not something Scarlett would ever do. Not in a million years.
I move away from the fridge, and I get the mop and bucket ready to start cleaning the floor.
Whatever these guys really got Scarlett here for, as far as I’m concerned, I’m here to clean.
That’s what I agreed to, and that’s what I’m going to do.
Even if it seems like nothing in this house needs it.
Chapter nineteen
Bishop
Scarlett’s stepping into the hallway with the mop and bucket when I walk back down the stairs.
Something is definitely going on with her, and it’s something more than just being annoyed that she lost the bet and has to spend seven days cleaning our house as the penalty.
I know she sings loudly while she does anything she deems as boring. I’ve seen her do it, and I’ve heard her housemates complain about it.
Yet, she just cleaned our entire kitchen without singing a single note.
She looks up as I approach, her hand staying on the mop that still looks like it’s in a bucket full of clean, soapy water. There’s no hint of dirt in there at all.
Yeah, I should have quit my cleaning routine for at least a couple days.
“No feet on that floor until it’s dry,” she warns me, as if I might be about to ruin her hard work.
It’s cute how defensive she looks standing there by the door with that mop handle in her hand.
“Actually, I wondered if you might want to take a break?” I ask, motioning to the lounge door next to the kitchen. “We have snacks in the lounge.”
Her bright eyes light up at the s-word. “Sounds good to me.”
She really is different today.
I need to understand why.
Putting my hand under hers on the mop handle, I feel her fingers shake as she lets the handle go.
She’s quick to fold her arms around her middle to hide it, but I can see she’s nervous.
That cool, confident air she usually has wrapped so tightly around her is nowhere to be found.
Her posture is slouched, and her eyes are wary.
