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to let it soak.
“Here. You should let me help you.” Adalynn had crept up
without Cassia hearing her.
She realized she’d been lost in concentration and that while
she’d been scrubbing at mugs with hard to get off coffee stains
and frying pans crusted burnt eggs, Adalynn had put music on.
Not just any music. Classical. Cassia wondered if Adalynn
actually liked that, or if it was something she thought she
should listen to because it was supposed to be inspiring or
soothing. No, Adalynn looked like someone who wouldn’t
listen to music just because other people said she should or
because she wanted to be current.
“What’s this?” Cassia eyed the few remain
ing dishes. “And
I’ve got it. There are only a couple left.”
“But your hands. The soap has to sting.”
Cassia lifted up her palm. “Oh. No, they’re okay. I didn’t
even notice. I guess the water feels good and the blisters aren’t
deep.”
“I’m an imbecile for not giving you gloves.”
“Maybe I’m an imbecile for not asking for them.”
They looked at each other for a few moments. Adalynn was
the first to crack a smile. She laughed softly, a sound as pretty
as the winds and the strings combining in the background.
“I like this,” Cassia said. “The music.”
“Oh.” Adalynn flushed and she was so pretty with that pink
on her cheeks, so delicate, her beauty so ethereal and fragile,
like an exotic flower deep in the jungle, hidden away from
mankind’s eyes and mechanisms, that Cassia nearly sighed.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s my favorite. I have a whole stack of
