Page 29
It’s just colour. Just fabric.
But once, red meant attraction. Heat and roses and one glass too many of Claret. Until it came to mean something else.
“Brandon?” Lily-Anne calls softly, her footsteps light as she comes down the stairs.
Nova laughs and vanishes.
“Yes, I’m down here,” I say distractedly, stuffing the clothes back into the washer and straightening.
“Oh no,” she groans, spotting the water trickling onto the floor. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. Looks like it’s just unbalanced.”
“What? But it wasn’t even a heavy load.”
“It’s not your fault. The sensor’s temperamental.” I risk a glance at her, noticing her white T-shirt, torn-kneed jeans, hair in a messy bun—cute, but my mind jumps straight to red lace.
God help me.
I clear my throat. “If the load’s too light, it doesn’t distribute evenly and the whole drum wobbles.”
She blinks at me. “So…you’re saying the load wasn’t heavy enough?”
“As I said—temperamental. I need to get it replaced.” I wipe my damp hands on my jeans and nod at the washer. “Your things are wet but otherwise done. If you don’t mind wringing them out, there’s a line on the patio. Should dry quickly, what with the sun still out.”
“Good idea.” She gathers her wet clothes. I show her out back, opening the glass sliding door.
I avert my gaze as she pegs them up.
“How was the farm?” she asks. “Milk some cows?”
It takes me a moment to recall our joke from the car ride yesterday.
“Yes. It was good. We had a calf today.”
She glances over, her expression shrewd. “That’s nice. But it’s a bit late for calving season, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never worked on a farm with animals.”
“But oystersareanimals,” she points out. “They’re marine molluscs. Part of the same group as clams and scallops.”
I arch a brow. “You Googled oysters, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” She smiles coyly, a brief flash that’s gone almost as soon as it appears, but it sparks heat beneath my ribs all the same. “I had to verify your milking claim.”
“I see.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “And how about you? Good day?”
She nods. “I walked into town, checked out the harbour and some shops. It’s such a beautiful place.” She fiddles with a peg. “I didn’t play my guitar, though.”
Guilt drags her tone, subtle but unmistakable.
“That’s quite alright,” I say gently. “There’s no rush. It’s only your first day.”
Her shoulders ease a little, though I can tell it still nags at her.
“Speaking of which,” I continue, “how about that pub dinner? Since you missed it last night. Nothing fancy, just to mark your first day.”
“That sounds great. I promise not to nap through it this time.” She gives me a quick, bright smile before heading inside to call her mum.
