That surprises me for some reason.
“Like... a cleaning service?”
His expression softens slightly. “Her name’s Thelma. Sweet older lady from town. Her husband passed a few years ago, and her kids are grown. She comes by once a week.”
“Thelma,” I repeat thoughtfully.
Something tells me Ford’s Gram will eventually adore her. Or corrupt her. Possibly both.
Daltyn grabs my suitcase and sets it on the bed beside me before unzipping it.
I gasp.
He pauses. “What?”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “My panties are in there.”
Daltyn freezes.
His gaze lifts slowly to mine, and for one brief second, something hot and startled flashes across his face before he locks it down again.
“It’ll be...” His throat bobs. “Fine.” His voice shakes slightly.
No, it will not.
But I might as well enjoy this.
Daltyn clears his throat and opens the closet. “Tell me where you want things.”
I point toward the dresser. “The plastic bag has my dirty clothes. Including my panties. They need to be washed.”
His shoulders tense.
“I have a couple of clean pairs left,” I continue innocently. “But you’re not washing my dirty underwear.”
“No,” he says quickly. “Thelma handles laundry, too.”
“Oh.” I nod seriously. “Okay then. She can wash them.”
His eyes narrow like he knows I’m enjoying this way too much.
“What I couldn’t fit in the bag on the right side needs washed,” I explain. “The left side is clean.”
“Very organized.”
“Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.” I shift slightly on the bed to get comfortable.
Daltyn straightens. “What’s wrong?”
I blink. “Nothing. I’m adjusting myself.”
His shoulders loosen marginally.
“Put the jeans and sweaters in the closet,” I continue. “Pajamas go in the second drawer. But I’ll need a pair to change into because I’m not lounging around in jeans all night.”
He pulls out a tiny sleep set and frowns. “These are too flimsy for Vermont nights.”
“It’s September.”
