At least, that was his experience.
So, yeah, he ignored Mayonnaise and paired socks, rolling them into balls and tossing them over his shoulder into the laundry bin.
If he added a few slides in the process, well, he might as well be having a good time.
Growing up, they’d had this same type of tile. The kind that got extra slick when he and his brothers used furniture polish on it. Then they’d skate around the kitchen in their socks.
Until that moment, he’d totally forgotten about how they used to do that. His littlest brother had nearly taken out their mom’s china hutch with his spin and twist maneuver.
It’d been epic.
April’s floor wasn’t covered in furniture oil, so he couldn’t exactly manage quite the same, but he did a mini version of it that wouldn’t land him on his ass or in the wreckage of April’s good dishes.
April’s slow clapping broke him from his sock spins.
Jack didn’t do embarrassed, but his body didn’t get that message and his face went hot. He stopped spinning immediately. Cleared his throat. Leaned against the wall like he had not just embarrassed the hell out of himself.
“By all means, continue.” April made a go-on-ahead hand gesture, and he couldn’t help but notice the glimmer in her eye.
If he wasn’t mistaken, there was dare beneath those rich brown eyes.
He shook his head and jerked his chin toward the table where he’d dropped the latest laundry bin. “I’ve got socks to fold.”
“Jack?” She scratched at her temple. “Those socks don’t go together at all. The little ones? Those are Lola’s. They don’t go with the frog pair. Those are Rohan’s.”
Right. “They were matched together before I threw them in.”
Once in the bin? They’d sort of disassembled the rolled balls into a mess of chaos.
April scratched at her temple again. “The dancing looks like more fun, anyway.”
“I agree with that.”
April mimicked his stance, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you doing my laundry?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “Poorly?”
He glanced at the bin. “Because it needed to be done.”
“You don’t have to do my laundry.”
“What if I told you I like to do laundry?” It wouldn’t be true, but he could still ask the question.
“Then I’d say thank you.” She shook her head with a slight smile. “But no one actually likes doing laundry.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Tell you what.” He dropped his arms, kicked off from the wall, and moved toward her. “Let’s have some fun instead.” He made the statement knowing she wouldn’t even entertain the idea. She had, as she’d pointed out multiple times that day, too much to get done. “Let’s try out your socks.” He glanced pointedly to her sock-covered feet.
If she agreed, and if his entire purpose here was to help her relax, there wasn’t anything better to accomplish that task than sock slides.
“I’m not doing that.” She shook her head.
“Because you don’t want to have fun or because you don’t want me to see you having fun?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and glanced to the side. “Neither.”
“Then why not?” He landed a particularly good slide and held out his hand. “You’ve got the socks for it.”
