Restoring Romance (Welcome to Romance 1)

“Maybe some soft music?”

Her e

yes closed and a tear trickled out.

He fell to his knees beside her. “Ash? Why are you crying?”

Her chin trembled as she whispered, “You’re being so nice to me...”

“Of course I am.” He brushed her hair off her forehead. “I care about you.”

“Because I’m your cousin?”

“That’s right.” He replied with such conviction, he almost convinced himself. He was only doing what his mom had asked of him—treating her like family.

Glad he had taken a preventive dose of Benadryl, he fetched a glass of ice water from the kitchen with Lucky following at his feet. He supported Ash’s head while she sat up to take a sip, and Lucky leapt onto the couch, curling up in the corner and purring like a racecar.

“Thank you,” she whispered, flinching at the sound of her own voice, and he wondered if Lucky’s rumbling purr didn’t hurt her head, as well.

When he found only a pile of dirty hand-towels in the half-bath downstairs, he scrambled upstairs in search of a washcloth, feeling a little awkward poking around in her bathroom. In the back corner of the almost-empty linen cabinet he located a single washcloth. He spied an overflowing laundry basket in the corner, which he suspected was the reason for her sparse supply of towels and washcloths. He could take care of that issue, too—he certainly knew how to do laundry.

When he returned downstairs, Ash squinted at him through slitted eyelids.

“Here, I’ve got a damp cloth for your forehead.” He smoothed her hair off her face and laid the cool rag gently across her brow. He almost missed the shiver that went through her body. “Are you cold?”

“Uhmm... a little. But I’m okay. You don’t have to...”

Vaulting up the stairs, two-at-a-time, he ignored her protest. He entered her bedroom, trying to remain professional and not snoop through her personal belongings, though a dresser top covered with framed pictures beckoned him to come and browse. The blanket he sought lay across the foot of her bed, so he snatched it and left before he changed his mind and invaded her privacy.

When he returned to the den, her eyes were closed, the washcloth still in place on her forehead. With slow, careful movements, he draped the second blanket over her. Lucky darted from under the cover and disappeared through the door.

Ash looked so tiny and frail, buried under the blankets with only her face exposed, his chest tightened with an overwhelming desire to protect her. When a car honked on the street outside, causing her eyebrows to draw downward while she slept, he gritted his teeth, barely restraining himself from rushing outside to yell at the driver. Instead, he dragged out his phone, turning on soft music from a playlist he customarily used while performing tedious restoration work on intricate furniture carvings. He watched until her tense facial features relaxed a bit. Satisfied with his efforts, he set off to find the laundry room.

After a thorough search of the house, he walked outside to the garage and, at last, located the washer and dryer. However, the pair sat under a dropcloth, no plumbing in the vicinity. She must be using the laundromat. Something about that situation galled him. She shouldn’t have to cart her clothes out to the car and drive across town and sit on a hard chair in the washateria. He hoped delayed city inspections hadn’t caused her current situation. Whatever the reason, she needed help, though he was quite certain she would never ask for it. Someone had to take care of her and, as her cousin, he was the logical choice. He ignored the insignificant thought in his head suggesting his mother or sister-in-law might be better qualified for the position.

Back inside the house, he crept into the darkened den to check on his patient. He retrieved the damp cloth from where it had fallen on the floor. Her face seemed flushed, and he reached his hand out to see if her skin felt hot. At the last second, he stopped, realizing his hands were still cold from being outside. A bright alternative popped into his head, and he bent downward to press his lips against her forehead. He caught a whiff of strawberry from her hair, and couldn’t help lingering, savoring the moment. When he straightened, he flinched—a man stood in the dim light, staring at him, his eyes growing wider as his broad smile faded. Adam’s breath hitched before he took in the gilded frame and understood his intruder was a mirror image. His reflection regarded him with accusing eyes.

“It wasn’t a kiss—I was only testing her temperature,” he explained to his confronter, in a harsh mental message.

“Yeah, right!” the sarcastic voice answered in his head.

Another retort teetered on the edge of his mind when it occurred to Adam he might be bordering on crazy if he continued to argue with himself. With guilty accusations pushed firmly into the back corner of his mind, he went upstairs and gathered all the laundry he could find from the bathroom hamper and the floor of the bedroom and closet. With one last peek at her sleeping form, he slipped out and hopped in his truck heading to the laundromat. Laundry basket in hand, he pushed his way through the door, blinking as his eyes adjusted from the blinding sunlight.

“Adam Walker—I haven’t seen you in here for ages,” called a hoarse voice, so low she almost sounded like a man. “Let me guess... Either your washing machine is broken or you got tired of having no one to talk to but pieces of old broken-down furniture, right?”

She cackled with laughter, revealing smoke-stained teeth, as she ambled over and rested her hips against a washing machine, her arms crossed in a way that emphasized the low cut of her blouse.

“No, Teresa, I’m just helping a friend get their laundry done.”

“Oh? A friend?”

Her stenciled-on eyebrows arched upward, and she cocked her head to the side, her gaze searing the contents of his basket. Relieved he’d hidden Ash’s undergarments beneath the towels, he gripped the plastic rim tighter.

“Yep, a friend. Believe it or not, I’ve got a few of those.”

“Of course you do.” She giggled, casually opening the washing machine in front of her. “You have six friends, don’t you, Grumpy? Let’s see, there’s Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, Doc, Happy... I always forget the last one.”

“Very funny.” He knew the answer was Bashful, but figured it would only make her tease him more if he admitted it.