“Are you okay?”
My breath leaves me in a huff, and I turn back to glare at him. Luc stands in front of the door, watching me. I ignore his question. How the hell would I answer it anyway?
“Did that asshole come in here?” I ask.
The muscles in Luc’s jaw stand out and disappear under his skin. “It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s a yes. That’s why he said I had a loose caboose, isn’t it?” I don’t need him to answer. I grab the last thong and bra from the rack and toss them into the basket. A laugh that feels like sulfuric acid climbs my throat. “Loose caboose. The irony is hilarious.”
When I realize I’ve said this aloud, I look up. Luc’s brows are drawn together. I can’t tell if he’s confused or concerned. But why would he be concerned? I’m sure talking to me is confusing as hell.
“Sorry I cost you an employee,” I mutter.
“That guy?” Luc’s face contorts with disgust as he throws a thumb over his shoulder. “That guy’s a temp. Today was his first and last day working for me.”
I blink at this news. I inhale through my nose and feel marginally better. “And the other two?”
He must hear the apprehension in my voice because his face softens. “Donner and Sam work for me, and they’d never behave like that.” I watch his throat work as he swallows. “That should never have happened. I’m very sorry it did.”
I give him a tired look. “It just proved you ri—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head and taking a step closer. “No. I was out of line to say anything at all. This is your house. Your laundry room. Your laundry. It has nothing to do with me—with us,” he adds quickly.
I shake my head. “No, I should have put it away this morning. I would have come home, seen it, and been embarrassed no matter what you’d said.” This is the truth. I was mortified when he mentioned it in the driveway. It seems I’m destined to be mortified whenever I’m around him.
He arches a brow. “There’s a difference between being embarrassed and being intimidated. You shouldn’t be intimidated in your own home.” He holds my gaze, and as he does, I realize I was both embarrassed and intimidated.
But I’m not anymore.
He’s quiet. I’m quiet. We stare at each other.
No. It would be more accurate to saywe watch each other.The skin on my cheeks goes hot again, but this time it’s not from humiliation or rage. I clutch my wicker basket to my chest.
“I-I’d better go put these away and let Clarence out,” I stammer.
As if my words are some kind of starting gun, Luc jumps back, grasps the knob, and whips the door open. He holds it open and ushers me past him, and I don’t hesitate. I practically dart from the room, but when I move past him, I fill my lungs and inadvertently catch his scent as I do. Fresh sawdust. Spicy sweat. Warm skin.
And out of the corner of my eye, I see him tense as if he’s holding himself still.
* * *
At two o’clock,the skies open. Because the forecast shows rain until midnight, soccer practice is cancelled. I get a notice from the team app on my phone, and despite his size, Clarence is a big baby when it comes to storms, so I take him with me to pick up Mattie and Harry.
“What are we gonna do for dinner?” Harry asks as soon as he’s inside the SUV.
I suppress a sigh. He already knows the answer to that. “I made gumbo last night. We’re having leftovers.” It was our last night cooking in the old kitchen, and everyone helped.
“Oh, yeah,” Harry mutters, sounding less than enthused.
Okay, so, yeah, I might have used a little too much jarred roux. The broth might have been a little heavy. Emmett even used the wordgreasy, but it was edible.
“Gumbo is always better the second day,” I say.
“Maybe we should wait a third day,” he says under his breath. Mattie snickers from the backseat.
“Hey, now,” I warn, but even though the joke is at my expense, I still chuckle.
“What else is there to eat? Like right now?” Harry the Walking Stomach asks.
