“I cleaned everything,” I say, trying not to sound defensive as I deposit Waffles onto a folded bathmat I strategically positioned. “Tub’s rinsed, tile’s dry. No rugs were harmed in the making of this nervous breakdown.”
Rowan walks into the bathroom, disappearing for a beat.
Then, “You left the candle burning.”
“Oh,” I call. “That was for—uh—aromatherapy. Ambiance. Emotional balance.”
Silence.
“Did it work?” I ask weakly.
He reappears, eyebrows raised. “The dog sneezed eleven times.”
“Which is basically an exorcism, so you’re welcome.”
He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me gather the wreckage: discarded towels, soggy hoodie, Waffles’s chew toy that somehow ended up in the sink. I move fast because I was raised in a house where you cleaned up your mess before anyone else could name it. Before it became part of your identity.
A good girl.
The kind of girl who didn’t give men excuses to leave.
“Tessa.”
I freeze, fingers still curled around a crumpled towel.
He only uses my full name when he’s either annoyed or something else. Something quieter.
I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
He studies me.
“You don’t have to clean everything like your life depends on it,” he says finally.
I blink.
Because that’s exactly what I was doing.
Then I say, too brightly, “It kind of does, though, doesn’t it? I mean, I already owe you four favors and a dry-cleaning bill. You let me bring a fugitive dog into your apartment. The least I can do is Swiffer the crime scene.”
He doesn’t laugh, he simply watches me.
But then he turns back into the kitchen without another word, and I finish tidying in the quiet.
Waffles is asleep now. Fully, dead-to-the-world asleep. His one good eye is shut, his head buried against Rowan’s couch pillow.
I cover him gently with a towel and stand.
Rowan’s leaning against the counter again, drinking coffee.
I hover near the living room.
“Thanks,” I say.
“For what?” he asks without looking at me.
I swallow. “For letting him stay. For letting me come over and spend time with him. For not making me feel like garbage while doing it.”
He snorts softly into his mug. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
