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“Could be a ton of different reasons. It’s an old house, things break.”
She seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “How’d you get it to stop?”
“I turned the main water valve off.”
Her eyebrows pinched together above the bridge of her nose. “How do you know how to do that?”
“I used to help my dad with home repairs. He taught me a lot.”
She let out a breath and bumped her head against the wall. “My dad took care of everything, too, but I never thought to ask. I guess I’ll have to call him to help me assess the damage. He has so much on his plate already.”
“Don’t call him.”
“You turned my water off, so unless you’re willing to share your shower with me, I have no choice.”
Visions of Isla in his shower, soapsuds and water sluicing down her body was too much for any man to ignore, but he swallowed the desire to throw a sexual innuendo at her and focused on the current problem.
“I can help you.”
She shook her head, water flinging from her hair and hitting his arm. “No. You’ve already done enough. I can handle this.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you’d still have water spraying out of your wall.”
She pushed up from the floor and dropped the towel that hit the ground with a thwap. She stood taller, causing her bra to move lower, and revealing the crest of her nipple.
He nodded toward her shirt, figuring he’d be nice and let her know.
“Yes, my shirt is wet, but at least I’m wearing one.” He watched as her eyes drifted over his bare chest that was still slick with sweat.
“You might as well not be either,” he said, and her gaze darted down. Her hands crossed over her chest, and she spun on her foot. “Excuse me.” She ran upstairs to where the bedrooms were, and he went to the closet to grab a mop, assuming they were still in the same place they’d been when Mrs. Garrick was alive.
He opened the closet, and everything was exactly as he remembered it. Brooms, a mop, and vacuum sat against the far wall and cleaning supplies lined the shelves. He grabbed the mop and went back to the kitchen. The braided ends pushed through the water and did little else. If he was going to make any leeway, he needed towels. He went to the bathroom on the first floor and opened the closet door. The shelf that always held perfectly stacked towels was empty.
Back in the kitchen, he found a few hand towels and placed them on the puddle of water. They instantly soaked through. He grabbed a bucket from the utility closet and rung out the towels.
Isla returned in a bathing suit cover up that was only a little less see-through than the wet t-shirt. The material stopped mid-thigh, revealing soft and sun-golden flesh.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“It would have been done by now, but I couldn’t find any full-size towels.”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “I have to do laundry.”
“There used to be like twenty towels in that closet.” Mrs. Garrick had always kept it stocked, and as kids, they’d grab them before running through the sprinklers or heading down to the beach.
“There still are, but they’re all in the wash.”
Nolan’s head tilted. “Do you not know how to do laundry?”
Her mouth pinched tight. “Of course, I know how to do laundry. I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were. I’m just wondering how you went through so many towels.”
“I use one on my body and one for my hair every time I shower.”
And Nolan knew that was sometimes twice a day. She liked to shower in the morning to start fresh, but she also liked to shower after the beach, or after a walk, or just because.
“My mom always complained about how many towels I used, but I thought she was just picking on me. I didn’t realize how fast they pile up.”
