She opened her eyes, wiped the water from them, and took a step back from the laundry room. She had to fix this. The water was getting everywhere!
She backed another step up, right into the granite chest of Joe Cassidy.
“What have you done now, woman?”
“I didn’t do anything; I was trying to do laundry.”
Joe stepped around her, put a hand in front of his face, and turned the dial on the washing machine. It took a second, but the hose, previously animated with vicious intent, fell against the wall, limp and lifeless.
“Whoa, what a mess.”
“I’ll call housekeeping, ugh, I mean, I’ll get?—”
“Towels, we need a mop and towels.”
“Mop?” Goldie was flustered, no question. She had temporarily forgotten there wasn’t a staff or a manager to deal with the issue.
“Stick with absorbent fabric on the bottom.”
“Ugh, I know what a mop is. I just don’t knowwherea mop is.”
As Joe continued to turn dials off, Goldie tried to turn on her heel and stomp off in a dramatic show of her annoyance. Instead, she slid on the soapy wet floor. She did not want to fall. But she was going down, no two ways about it.
Splat.
She was so embarrassed she’d have preferred to have died. She would rather have had a fall kill her than have to get up and face the infuriating Joe Cassidy, as he likely would laugh.
So far, Goldie had shown zero competence in their two encounters.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just fine.” Goldie reached for the door jamb and, this time, got up slowly, with care.
She was soaking wet. Again.
“Wait, you’re not fine.”
Clearly, she wasn’t fine. She was totally inept without Tally or Hollis. Ugh, Hollis.
“I am. Look, thanks for stopping the water.”
“No, I mean you’re bleeding.”
Goldie reached up and put a hand to her face. She touched her eyebrow and looked at her fingers. They were bright red.
“Oh, no! My face! I cut my face.”
“Let me see.” Joe Cassidy got close again. This time he gently put his fingers on her chin and tilted her face.
“Is it bad?”
“It’s okay. Why don’t you sit down there at the kitchen counter? I’ll grab a bandage. I’ve got a few in my toolbox.”
“Bandage? I think I need a plastic surgeon.”
“It’s tiny, hidden there in your eyebrow.”
This man had no idea how every little millimeter on her face had been tweaked, buffed, plucked, motion captured, and exfoliated. Over and over.
