Wait one dang minute. “You have a washer?”
He has a washer? In his house?
“And a dryer.”
“How? Where?”
“In the basement.”
“Youhave a basement?”
He has a basement? In his side of the house? Why didn’t I know that? That makes no sense. Why don’t I have a basement. And a washer and dryer?
So many questions.
The reason I don’t have a basement is because my place is on what’s called a slab. It’s the only thing I don’t like about it. I’m half afraid a tornado is gonna hit and I’ll be screwed.
“That’s because, originally, your place was the garage.”
“Really?” I had no idea.
“Yep. It was a single-family home. The owner turned it into a duplex.”
“Huh.” I blink a few times. The two of us are just looking at each other now, but I’m still thinking about the fact that his place has a washer and dryer and mine does not. “Is it a good basement or more of a spider dungeon?”
“Uh…” He starts to speak, but then does something amazing instead. He laughs. Hard. And it’s the best-sounding laugh I’ve ever heard. From his gut, you know? Rumbly and infectious. It’s a great laugh. “Jesus, Colette.”
Okay. Let me just clarify something right this gall-dang minute. Hearing Sam Griffin say my name like he did just now is one million times better than those little pet names like baby girl, honey, and sweetheart. But, to further clarify, he can also call me those names, because Sam’s voice just does something to me. Apparently, his voice has the ability to turn my insides to goo. That and make my ovaries explode.
Side note—I never understood what “ovaries exploding” meant whenever I’ve read that in a manuscript or heard it referenced in a movie, but now, I do. Oh, hell yes.NowI get it.
When he stops laughing, he’s still smiling, and that’s when I see the little dimple on his right cheek.
Jesus. This man is going to be the death of me.
“No. I wouldn’t say it’s a spider dungeon.” He chuckles again. “Although, I’ve seen a spider or two.”
I visibly shiver and decide if I’m going to make it out of this conversation without climbing him like a tree, I’ve got to keep going. “Right.” I turn and take a step away. “I think I’ve got some laundry soap. Hang on.” Opening the little hall closet, I bend down to retrieve my soap and glance down at my feet. Cringing at the chocolate blobs there, I grab a washcloth from the shelf right at eye level and wipe the bulk of the mess off and toss the cloth into the basket at the bottom of the closet. “Found it.”
Shutting the door, I turn and literally run into the man. “Oomph.” I giggle. “Sorry.”
I’m expecting him to say something in response like “Oh, that’s okay” or “No problemo.” But there’s nothing. I peek and see he’s looking down at me, and that’s when I really notice some things. Like those steel gray eyes have flecks of gold all around his iris. And laugh lines. He’s got some really nice ones on either side of those eyes. It tells me that this guy doesn’t hold back on smiles.
I like that.
A lot.
And he’s got some gray in his hair at the temples. Not a lot. Just a speckling that you get to see when you’re standing close.
But it does make me wonder. “Hey. How old are you?”
How old are you?That’s what I ask him? Gah! I suck at this guy shit.
“Thirty-three,” he replies, not moving a muscle. “You?”
“Thirty-two.”
I don’t know what I expect him to say, but I did expect something. Except, he says nothing. He merely stares down at me, and it’s starting to make me feel squirmy. (Not in a good way.) It’s like he’s assessing me. Granted, I was assessing him just a minute ago, but his turned out all good. An A plus, if anyone were to request the report card. I’m sure he’s thinking I’m more of a C minus, so I need to get this moving along before that grade drops to a D. “Here you go.” I lift the jug of liquid detergent.
