He glances over and groans. “Of course you’re crying.”
“I’ve been having a rough day, all right?” I reply quietly, trying not to break out into full-on sobs.
“Yeah, well, spending the day in the NICU with my sister and my nieces wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for me.”
“Is everything okay? Did something happen today?” I ask quickly.
“Nothing’s changed,” he says flatly.
“Oh. Okay,” I reply, sniffling and wiping my cheeks.
We’re both silent from then on, and Landry slams the front door angrily behind us once we’re back in the house. I’ve made it a point to stay out of his way each time he gets like this, which seems to be every time he returns from a visit with his family. And he’s been checking in on Loren and the twins nearly every day since we moved in together a couple of weeks ago.
Although I intended to hide away in my bedroom for a while, I stop by the kitchen first once I remember how hungry I am.
“Landry?” I call out reluctantly. I hear him shuffling around near the laundry nook. “I’m making myself something to eat. Would you like anything?”
“Is it more eggs?” he retorts sarcastically.
I frown at the carton in my hands. “Maybe.”
I think I hear him snort before yelling, “No thanks.” But before I can finish heating the frying pan, he stomps into the kitchen and tosses a small bundle of clothes onto the counter.
“Um, can I help you?” I ask curiously.
“Is there anything left sacred here?” he rants, snatching something from the pile and waving it in front of me.
My lips twitch, but I bite back a smile. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You leave me no space! Everywhere I go, the shower, my Jeep, the couch—all I find is blonde hair. I can’t make a trip to the grocery store without you. You drank the last of my milk this morning. And God forbid I wash a load of laundry without something of yours ending up in it!”
I should be upset. Usually, this is the part when I’d start crying again. But whether it’s a culmination of this lousy day or the fact that he’s using my underwear to prove his point, I can’t find it in me to do anything but laugh. I cover my mouth and choke back a giggle, which only serves to further annoy him.
“What the hell is so funny?” he grumbles.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about the hair,” I barely get out. “But I promise to be more deliberate about keeping our laundry separate if you’re really all that threatened by my panties.”
His dark brows draw together before he glances down at the fabric in his hands. Then he picks them up and inspects them for a second. “You were wearing these when I walked in on you the other day,” he mumbles absently, and my laughter subsides.
I swallow hard and reach out, but he quickly snaps back into Irate Landry mode and tosses the underwear at my chest as if it were a ticking bomb.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I didn’t realize mixing our laundry would bother you so much.”
“Yeah, well …” He crosses his arms and looks away.
“Is it the washing or the sorting that makes you uncomfortable?” I ask carefully.
“What?”
I sigh. “If you have something against washing our clothes together, we can get separate laundry hampers and set a schedule for using the washer. But if you just don’t like finding my clothes when you go to fold yours, I don’t mind taking over that chore for both of us.”
“You want to do my laundry?”
I shrug. “Sure. It’s not a big deal. And I know you won’t have as much time to do it yourself when you start working full time at the clinic.”
He presses his lips together in a hard line. “Okay. Fine. You can handle laundry. I’ll supply the detergent.”
“Deal.” I smile cheerfully. “And while we’re at it, would you mind terribly if we made a trip to the grocery store? I need to get more eggs … and some baking supplies.”
