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Mrs. Tanaka remembered her well—“the girl Tigger hates but Spark can somewhat tolerate”—and she remembered everything she’d gotten wrong at her house the summer before. She spent most of the cleaning session explaining for the umpteenth time how she liked everything cleaned, but that worked out well enough for Brielle. Mrs. Tanaka was keen on demonstrating, so, with the exception of emptying the litter box, she basically had paid Scrubbing Cherubs to have someone walk around the house with her watching her clean on her own. She’d insisted Brielle carry Spark around from one room to the next as they did—although that went far beyond her job description. Spark seemed to have aged overnight since the last time Brielle had seen him and had mellowed out somewhat, so he actually let Brielle cradle him in her arms without struggling to get free. She pet his head absentmindedly and he only tried to bite her twice in two hours. Not bad for a cat that used to hiss at her from across the room and tried to swipe at her whenever she was within range on the floor scrubbing. That was the cat who “tolerated” her, too.
By the time she pulled up to the condo complex—conveniently only a few minutes’ drive from her house, so maybe she’d be able to get her Saturday half-days over with quickly—after lunch to meet the new client her mom had deemed “a handful,” she was almost giddy about how well the Mrs. Tanaka job had gone. She verified the condo number and checked the notes: Archer Ward prefers his own cleaning formulas, bring fresh sponges and garbage bags. He has a bagless vacuum to use—empty it every other day. His key is on Brielle’s ring, but expect him there most days.
Really? Expect him home in the afternoon in the middle of the work day?Brielle wondered if she was dealing with another retiree like Mrs. Tanaka, but then his mother would have had to be ancient, and he was still having her clean for him once a week.And if he’s there, why can’t he just answer the door?Brielle had a key to Mrs. Tanaka’s place, too, but she was always there, so Brielle just rang the doorbell and Mrs. Tanaka let her in. She didn’t like the idea of barging in on someone at an inconvenient moment.
Brielle found the right condo number, almost stumbling over what appeared to be a wooden ramp placed over the left side of the three stairs leading up to the two first-floor condos in the unit. She slipped her bucket down her arm so it hung over her elbow and pushed the doorbell.
She waited.
No one responded.Guess he has a life sometimes after all?Brielle dug the key out of her pocket but wanted to make absolutely sure he was gone before she entered, so this time she knocked, shouting, “Scrubbing Cherubs, here to shoot your home with the arrow of cleaning power!” She hadn’t made up the slogan, obviously. And luckily, no one was ever home to hear it. (She didn’t bother saying it with Mrs. Tanaka—the woman always said it herself.)
She shifted her bucket again and moved the key toward the lock when the door swung open hastily.
“Don’t you have a key?!”
Brielle stared in shock, the key still in her hand out in front of her. It was almost perfectly lined up with the poor guy’s eyeball. He was in a wheelchair. One of those “sporty” types of wheelchairs with the wheels bent inward somewhat. There were two canes sticking out from the back of his chair.
And he was gorgeous. He couldn’t have been much older than her. His clipped sandy blond hair belied a slight wave to his locks. He had the shadow of a beard despite the relatively early hour and Brielle assumed he’d just gone without shaving for a day or two, but somehow the hair and beard came together for that too-perfect “messy” look.
“Apparently you do. You’re just mystified as to how to use it.”
Right. The key. In her hand. Pointed at his light brown eyeball.
The man—Archer, Brielle assumed—shook his head as he gripped both wheels and backed up into the hallway, spinning around adeptly in the limited space and hightailing it down the hall to the living area. He didn’t so much as look back. “You can start in the kitchen,” he said, and that was that.
Brielle felt horribly embarrassed—she wished her mom hadput something about his disability in the notes! She hadn’t meant to inconvenience him. This was off to a lovely start.
She sighed and closed the door behind her, dragging her bucket down the hallway. At the first opening, she could see the living room, which bled over into the kitchen. Archer sat in the living room against a table by the window, and Brielle headed for the small area with the stove and refrigerator. She wondered how he could easily maneuver in a kitchen so small. It looked like when the dishwasher door opened, it’d take up half of the area’s floor space. That was probably why there was a small stack of dishes in the sink. That wasn’t too odd for Scrubbing Cherubs to do. They did just about any household task that involved cleaning. She’d even been to a few houses and apartments without a dishwasher at all and had had to scrub the dishes herself.
She opened the dishwasher to see if it was empty or full.
“Dishwasher’s broken,” called Archer from across the room. He didn’t even look up from whatever he was staring at on the table. “I would have thought Deena would have told you that.”
Brielle grimaced and grabbed for the dish soap that sat atop the sink. She wondered how he could even reach the sink to do this himself if he wanted to. No wonder he had someone come clean every day. She felt bad for ever thinking poorly of him for it.
Brielle cleaned the dishes in silence for a few moments until Archer cleared his throat. “Where’s Deena?”
He hadn’t exactly given her a chance to introduce herself. “I’m taking over your home for the summer.” She shook a plate and grabbed one of her towels from her bucket to dry it. “My name’s Brielle. Brielle Reyes.”
“What’s wrong with Deena?”
Brielle stacked the dried plate on the counter, wondering if she should bother having him give her a tour of where everything went or if that would incite his anger and she’d have better luck simply peeking in all the cupboards until she figured out what went where. “Nothing. She just has other clients. I’ve been off the job for a while and I needed new clients.”
“You mean she complained about me and the new girl got stuck with the job no one else wanted.”
Wow. Suffer from self-confidence issues much?Brielle felt bad for thinking that. He was disabled, after all. He certainly had more going on than most jerks to excuse his behavior. Brielle felt bad for thinking of him as a jerk, too. “I haven’t even spoken to Deena. But I’m sure no one’scomplainedabout you.” That was a lie. There had to have been something to get her mom to use the dreaded term “handful.” It was the absolutely worst term she’d used to describe any of her clients, and there’d been a few doozies that would have made Brielle resort to words of a much stronger flavor.
“Sounds like your company is a real team-driven effort. Great communication.”
Brielle put the spoon she’d grabbed from the sink down with a loud clank.What does that even mean? Is there no answer that would please this guy?She cleared her throat and picked the spoon up again, willing herself not to bore holes into the back of his head with her eyes from across the room. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be some kind of insult, but it’s a great business. We’re all independent, but we also know we can go to the owner withany sort of issues.” She grit her teeth, trying to stop herself from hinting that he’d caused issues after all. “The owner just doesn’t believe in sharing her clients’ personal business unnecessarily is all. No need for the rest of the team to know everything.Someclientsappreciate that.” She tackled the frying pan next. There was caked-on cheese, and Brielle wondered if he was really a grilled cheese kind of person or if the cheese was from a burger or something. She looked at the oven behind her out of the corner of her eye and wondered how he comfortably fried anything when his head would come only a couple of feet above the stovetop.
“I hope the owner is as attentive to her clients’ complaints.”
“Of course.” Brielle shook the pan over the sink and glowered at Archer’s back.Is he going to complain about the key thing? Mom will be disappointed in me, maybe, but she’ll understand when I point out how she didn’t fully explain the situation. So good luck trying to get me ‘in trouble,’ buster.
Almost as if he felt her eyes on him at that moment, he backed up and turned around, wheeling himself closer to the kitchen. He nodded at her as he pulled beside her. “Because you’re lucky I’m not allergic to animals.”
A chill ran through Brielle’s body as she gently put the pan down.What is he—?She looked down at her Scrubbing Cherubs shirt, ignoring how tightly it clung to her moderate curves for once, to see what Archer must have noticed: It was covered with cat hair.Coveredwith cat hair, all the way down her chest.
