I swiftly discard the platters into the sink, holding my breath as if one good inhale of Kalden’s masculine smoky bergamot scent is enough to undo my renewed resolve.
“Are you okay?” Kalden asks, glancing down at me withpinched brows.
“Fine.”
“Your face is turning purple.”
“Must be the lights.” I turn away, lungs greedily inflating as I finally allow myself to inhale. “Would you like a hand?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got it.”
“You sure? It’ll be good to feel useful.”
Kalden pauses his scrubbing, then relents. “I’ll wash. You’ll dry.”
“Perfect,” I say, pulling on a drawer only to find it empty. “Where’d you find the towel?”
“In the middle drawer. That one there, to the left.”
I tug it open and grab a fresh white hand towel from the top of the neatly stacked pile.
The occasional scrape, thunk, and squeak of my cloth against the clean plates interrupts our companionable silence until I work up the nerve to ask, “Who taught you to wash dishes?”
Kalden leans the last silver platter against the marble backsplash and unplugs the drain. “My parents have always split up chores evenly. If one of us cooks, the others will clean.”
“Wow. I bet your mother loves that.”
He shrugs. “It’s just good manners.”
“So, youareaware of what manners are?”
I freeze, mouth agape as I realize I voiced the jibe aloud.
Kalden lets out a low chuckle, igniting a fresh warmth in my stomach as he rinses his hands and turns off the faucet. “Was that ever in question?”
“Well, you can be a bit blunt,” I say, wiping off the beads of liquid from the tilted platter before folding the dampened towel along the sink’s edge to dry.
“Does honesty equate to a lack of manners?”
I tilt my head. “I guess it depends on how you deliver it. There’s a tactful way to tell the truth without sounding like an inconsiderate ass.”
The corner of Kalden’s lips lift the smallest amount. “Is that your tactful way of telling meIsound like an ass?”
I stiffen against the counter’s ledge.
Did I just unintentionally call a man an ass to his face?
My hand flies up towards my mouth, as if I could pluck my previous words from the air and stuff them back into my too-tight lungs. “I didn’t?—”
“You’re allowed to be honest with me, you know.” The line between his brows deepens. “I’m aware I can be . . . gruff, and I won’t fault you for calling that out. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
No words can pass through my swollen throat, so I offer a nod instead.
His smirk fully disappears, and I excuse myself a moment later, chest heaving as I slip into my temporary bedchamber.
“I hope you didn’t think you’d get away with not filling me in on your private training session,” a voice calls from somewhere within the chamber’s inky shadows.
I jump and reach blindly for the nearest wall sconce, twisting its dial until the dark-gray walls and sparse black-metal furniture are illuminated in a familiar violet hue.
