“Not until you shower.”
“Cal—”
“A long shower. Hot water, soap, the whole thing.” I kept my voice firm despite the way my pulse kicked up at this proximity. “You need to make sure any lye residue is completely gone.”
She tilted her chin up, challenging. “And then?”
“Then we'll spend time with Pudding. Outside, away from all this.” I gestured at the kitchen disaster. “And after that, we'll figure out the soap thing together.”
“Together.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “How's that sound?”
Her expression softened, something warm settling in those hazel eyes. “Perfect.”
She darted around me, already heading for the stairs. I heard her footsteps racing up, then the sound of water running through the pipes.
I stood alone in the kitchen, evening light streaming through the open windows. The cross-breeze carried the chemical smell away, replacing it with fresh mountain air and the distant sound of chickens settling for the night.
My gaze drifted to the windowsill above the sink.
The bouquet I'd given her at the market sat in a mason jar, backlit by the golden sunset. She'd arranged the flowers carefully—purple asters and yellow sunflowers catching the light, stems cut to different heights so each bloom had space to shine.
She'd put them in the best light in the house.
Something in my chest loosened. The perpetual tension I carried—the weight of emergencies and responsibilities and never quite measuring up—eased. Standing in Walt's kitchen, listening to Rosie sing off-key in the shower upstairs, felt right in a way nothing had in years.
I was smiling. Actually smiling.
And I didn't want to stop.
ChapterEleven
Rosalie
“I'm ready!”
I bounded down the stairs, wringing water from my braid. The lye smell had washed away, replaced by my lavender shampoo and the clean cotton scent of my favorite overalls.
Cal turned from where he'd been examining my soap disaster. His eyes tracked from my bare feet up to my damp hair, lingering somewhere in the middle.
He didn't say anything.
“Cal?”
“Yeah.” He blinked, clearing his throat. “Good. That's—you look clean.”
“That was the goal.” I grabbed my sneakers from beside the door. “Can we see Pudding now?”
“Right. Yeah.” He moved toward the door like he'd forgotten why he was here.
The evening air hit my damp skin, still warm enough to feel pleasant. The sun hung low over the mountains, painting everything gold. Chickens clucked contentedly from their coop, and somewhere in their pen, the goats were probably plotting tomorrow's chaos.
Cal opened his truck's passenger door carefully. Pudding was curled on a blanket, one floppy ear perking at the sound.
“Hey, handsome.” I crouched beside the truck, keeping my voice soft. “Remember me?”
The puppy's tail gave a small wag.
