Page 171 of The Sweetest Return

“It’s a bedroom.”

“This is a department.”

He leaned against the dresser, looking far too relaxed for a man standing in a room that could have had its own mailing address. “You want something to change into, or you planning to eat in work clothes?”

“I need clothes.”

He disappeared into the closet and returned with enough fabric to suggest I had requested emergency housing instead of something comfortable.

“Dre.”

“What?”

“Do you own anything intended for humans under six feet? I am barely over five feet tall.”

“You want my clothes or not?”

“I want clothes. Not shelter.”

He laughed, went back into the closet, and returned with an old black Forge T-shirt. The cotton looked soft from years of washing and the yellow-and-white lettering had begun cracking across the chest.

“This might work.”

I took it from him. “Still enormous.”

“It’ll fit like a dress.”

“You sound like you already pictured that.”

“I did.”

He said it without a trace of shame, and warmth touched my face before I could stop it.

“Bathroom’s through there,” he said. “Towels are out. Use whatever you need.”

I stepped past him and stopped.

“Andre.”

He looked at me.

“Thank you.”

Something gentled in his expression. “You ain’t got to thank me for being careful with you.”

I had no idea what to do with that, so I took myself into the bathroom before my face volunteered information I was not prepared to discuss.

The shower was excessive too, because apparently water pressure was where wealthy men finally abandoned restraint. I washed the day from my skin and let the steam loosen the last bit of tension behind my ribs. By the time I returned to the kitchen in his T-shirt, bare legs, and my braids gathered off my neck, Tasha was gone and Dre stood at the table arranging plates.

He had changed into black lounge pants and a white T-shirt that fit his chest and arms in a way that made the back of my mouth warm.

His gaze went down my body, paused at the hem of the shirt, and returned to my face.

“Yeah.”

I folded my arms. “Yeah what?”

“That one works.”