“Alright, Pip,” she said, once the last of the clothes were folded. “Laundry is done. Is my mail carrier ready to help me deliver?”
Pip responded the same way she always did. With an enthusiastic “yes!”
Belle typically turned their mundane chores into make-believe games in an attempt to make them more palatable. When she was three, Pip had become obsessed with waiting for their mailman, Gerald, to deliver the mail. Days when they didn’t get mail used to be rough, because Pip never understood why Gerald hadn’t brought them anything, always worried he was mad at them. On one of those sad, mail-less days, Belle had come up with the idea of making their own deliveries. Since it coincided with laundry day, their “deliveries” were clothing, and the “mailboxes” were the drawers.
Belle hadn’t expected the game to catch on the way it had, but here they were, a year and a half later, still “delivering” the laundry.
Belle tucked the piles of clothes into the basket in the proper order so it would be easy for Pip to place the items in the correct drawers, then she tucked her phone into her back pocket, the two of them dancing to Lorde’s “Royals” as they climbed the stairs.
Walking into Pip’s room, Belle perched on the edge of the bed, pulling out a couple items at a time. Handing them to Pip, she said, “Panties and socks go in George’s mailbox,” aka the top drawer in the small dresser.
Pip, queen of imagination, had named her drawers at home so that she could pretend she was delivering to real people. One of the first things they’d done upon moving into Victor’s house was name these drawers as well.
Pip delivered the pile, placing it carefully in the drawer the way Belle had shown her. By the time Pip returned to the bed, Belle had the second pile ready for the second mailbox.
“And these go to Dora.” The second drawer. “Make sure to place them on top of the pile neatly.”
“You run the laundry like a military operation.”
Belle glanced up, surprised to find Victor leaning against the doorframe. Usually, she could sense a disturbance in the force whenever he was nearby, so she was shocked she hadn’t noticed him standing there.
“We’re a post office,” she said, correcting him with a grin. “Pip and I have been delivering clothes to the right drawers for fifteen months now. Eat your heart out, UPS,” she joked.
“Uncle Vic!”
Victor bent down as Pip launched herself at him. He was typically up and out for his morning run prior to her and Pip waking, so this was the first time either of them had seen him today. Despite being in residence a full week, Pip still greeted her uncle each morning like they’d been apart for months rather than hours.
Belle didn’t know much about Victor’s day-to-day schedule but, despite it being the off-season, she’d still expected him to be gone more often. So far, he’d hardly left the house at all, opting to do his workouts in his personal gym rather than driving into the city to use the team’s facilities. She wondered if that was normal or if he was just remaining close for their sake.
Belle wasn’t sure when he’d returned from this morning’s run, but given the fact his hair was wet from the shower and he was dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt, he’d been back for a while.
He looked perfectly normal, but there was something strangely intimate about seeing Victor with wet hair and bare feet, looking very casual and comfy…as he should, in his own home.
For five years, she’d essentially seen Victor in passing. School pickups. Holidays. Occasional dinners or barbecues. He’d always been solid, put together, gruff, protective.
But this?
This was domestic. And way hotter than it should be.
Belle mentally chastised herself, because Jesus…
She was only one week in on this three-month adventure. She needed to get a handle on her libido if she hoped to get to the end without making a fool of herself.
“Had breakfast, squirt?” Victor asked Pip, who nodded.
“We had scrambled eggs and toast,” she replied. “Belle let me crack the eggs!”
Victor glanced in Belle’s direction. “How did that go?”
Belle laughed, because it was obvious he knew how. “They were just the tiniest bit crunchy.” Thanks to the shell pieces Belle hadn’t been able to dig out. “Just the way I like them,” she added.
Victor carried Pip over to the drawers, inspecting her work. “That looks good, Pip. Might have to get you to sort the clothes inmydrawers. They’re chaos.”
Belle hoped Victor was sincere in that request, because he clearly didn’t know just how much Pip loved the mail game. “Okay!” she shouted enthusiastically. “But first we need to name your drawers and your closet. Belle can help too,” Pip said. “She’s the bestest.”
He shot Belle a quizzical look that she interpreted easily. “Mail is delivered topeople, not drawers,” she said, quoting Pip when she’d insisted on naming their drawers.
“Got it. Well, I definitely need the bestest,” he said to Pip. “Next time I do laundry, I’ll find you so we can name my drawers.” Victor’s words were light and carefree, but his usual somber, serious expression didn’t match. Not that Belle thought he was mad or upset. She’d been around him enough to know his scowl was a permanent feature and not indicative of his emotions.
