Page 51 of Made for Mayhem

“Right,” I said. “Maybe it’s in the laundry.”

She gasped, then bolted down the hall, Rowdy thumping after her. “The laundry room!”

Before I could follow, the shower shut off and Daisy’s voice called from behind the door. “Everything okay?”

“Wardrobe emergency,” I said. “We’re working on it.”

A moment later, the bathroom door clicked open behind me.

I turned, expecting a quick check-in, maybe a tired smile.

Instead, Daisy stepped into the hall on bare feet, a towel twisted around her hair. She wore tiny pink pajama shorts and a thin matching tank top; her skin still flushed from the heat of the shower. The sight of her like this—soft, real, and unguarded—hit me square in the chest.

This was supposed to be practical. Temporary. It was my idea to co-parent for the next six weeks of shared space and shared coffee, but apparently, I hadn’t thought through the logistics of sharing a house with a woman I was deeply, stupidly attracted to.

The house felt too small. Too intimate. Too easy to imagine this being my new normal.

“Morning chaos?” She tugged the towel off her head as she passed me. Her hair spilled down her back, still damp, and the smell of strawberry shampoo bloomed in the narrow hallway, sweet and impossible to ignore.

“Something like that,” I managed. My voice sounded like I’d swallowed gravel. My hands flexed uselessly at my sides, itching to burn off the sudden heat crawling under my skin.

Daisy walked into the laundry room where Junie was half-buried in a pile of warm clothes. She asked what Junie was looking for, unfazed by the little girl’s big emotions.

I stood in the doorway, watching her dig through the baskets of clean clothes I hadn’t folded or put away yet.

She bent to reach deep into the dryer, and my brain betrayed me with the sudden, visceral awareness of pink shorts and bare legs and the fact that I was not supposed to be noticing any of it. But dammit, I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop myself from imagining what my big hands would look like on those hips.

Heat flooded my face and lower, sharp and unwelcome. I was thirty-seven—I should’ve had better control than this.

I looked away a beat too late, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.

“Found it!” she said, then pulled out the infamous turquoise shirt with the hearts. “Oh, it’s super cute. I can see why this was your choice for today.”

Junie wiped away her tears, then took the shirt from her aunt.

“You know what?” Daisy said, kneeling beside her. “I’ve got a shirt this same color in my bag. Want to be twins today?”

“Twins?” Junie’s voice wobbled.

“I don’t know how anyone will tell us apart,” Daisy said. “You just need to grow about a foot and a half.”

“That’s impossible,” Junie said, hiccuping a laugh. “The average growth spurt for an eight-year-old is two inches. Maybe two-and-a-half if I increased my iron intake.”

“Okay.” Daisy shrugged. “I’ll just have to stay down here on my knees then. Kinda weird, but I am weird, right?”

Junie grinned, a full smile I was more than happy to see. “A little, yeah. But I like it.”

“Me too.” Daisy tugged Junie into her chest, and my girl wrapped her arms around her aunt’s neck. Daisy gave her a quick squeeze, then kissed her forehead. “Now go get dressed. You don’t want to be late for hockey, hm?”

Junie ran by me, then down the hall to her room. I leaned against the doorframe, relief loosening something in my chest.

“Need anything while I’m down here?” Daisy said.

I looked back at her, and any relief I’d felt flew right out the window.

She was still on her knees, pulling clothes out of the dryer and into a basket nearby.

The question was innocent. Practical. But the position—her looking up at me, damp hair on her shoulders, thin tank clinging in all the right places—sent a jolt straight through me. My stomach muscles locked. My breath snagged somewhere behind my ribs.