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“Here you go.” I place my plate on top of Dahlia’s cleared one, making her scowl.
My mom throws her napkin on the table with a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re in the mood to be helpful, you can do the dishes too.”
“What?”
“Dahlia wouldn’t be in trouble if you didn’t keep bothering her all day.”
“She’s the one who started it.”
“And I’m ending it. Go.”
I scoot my chair out and stand with a scowl. “Fine.”
Dahlia and I silently collect everyone’s dishes before entering the kitchen.
“You wash and I dry?” she asks as the door swings shut behind her.
“You don’t have a dishwasher?”
“It broke last night.”
Great. “I’ll take a look at it once we’re done.” I place the dirty dishes in the sink before rolling up my sleeves.
Dahlia tracks my every move with heated fascination, making my stomach clench.
Shit.“Do you have gloves?” I ask.
She snaps out of whatever trance my arms had her in. “Um, yeah.” She digs through the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a large pair of pink gloves.
I grab them from her, ignoring the tingle of her fingers brushing across mine. Both of us pull away a little too fast. I put the gloves on with too much force, nearly ripping one of them.
Dahlia searches the laundry room for a clean towel while I busy myself with the dishes.
She returns, only to pause midstride so she can snap a photo of me washing a plate. “Aw. The color of the gloves really brings out your cheeks.”
“Delete that.”
“Nope.” She tucks her phone into her back pocket and leans against the counter beside me.
I drop the dish in the dirty water. Soap suds and water droplets fly from the big splash, landing on both of us.
“Hey!” She wipes a few drops off her face.
I take advantage of her distraction to steal the phone from her back pocket.
“Give that back!” Dahlia reaches for her phone, but I hold it above her head.
I struggle to rip one of the rubber gloves off thanks to the soap covering it, but somehow manage to bite down on the tip of one finger and pull.
“Julian!” She claws at my arm with her freshly manicured nails.
I can vaguely overhear Rosa speaking from the other room, asking if she should go check on us, only for my mother toassure her that everything is fine.
“What’s your password?” I ask while attempting a few number combinations myself.
“Screw you.” She turns her attention toward the spot between my ribs that has me jolting.
“Give it back.” She tickles me again, and my grip on the phone slips.
