Restoring Romance (Welcome to Romance 1)

“Almost made you smile, though.” She stretched her fingers toward the clothesbasket he had tucked under his arm. “Do you want me to help you get your friend’s clothes started in the wash? What did you say her name was?”

He glanced at the clothesbasket, belatedly noticing a pink sweater on top of the towels. No wonder Teresa was so interested in helping.

“No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

“Okay.” She extended the last syllable in an I-know-you’re-up-to-something singsong. Then she leaned back, appearing as if she intended to park there for the evening.

Adam responded with one of his famously dark glowers.

Her eyes rounded, and she edged backwards. “Guess I’d better go... uhmm... check the phones.”

At least for now, he’d protected Ash from the damage of speculation. He was certain, however, that victory would be short-lived since Teresa was a known gossip and would probably make it her life’s work to find out who belonged to the pink sweater.

He shifted to the washers farthest from her prying eyes and opened two machine lids, tossing the towels and washcloths into one, leaving the clothes for last. In the other machine, he threw in two pairs of jeans. But as he picked up the first silky blouse it occurred to him to look for washing instructions on the tag. With his back to Teresa, he felt inside the garment and found a tab along the side that read, “Hand wash only.” He put the shirt aside, but with the next top, the soft pink sweater, he fared no better.

“Machine wash delicate. Lay flat to dry,” he muttered. Lay flat to dry? Where am I going to lay this sweater?

With his task becoming more complicated by the second, he shuffled through the garments and pulled out a bra, using his fingertips to hold it by the straps, as it felt less invasive. Unfortunately, the tag had no washing instructions, nor did he find directions on any of the other undergarments he examined. With growing frustration, he determined to look up general bra-washing instructions online, and he reached for his phone. His pocket was empty. Of course... it’s playing music for Ash.

In a stroke of what he considered brilliance, he decided to take all the clothes back to Ash’s house and wash them by hand in the sink. The towels, however, he left in the washateria machine. He almost threw in the two pairs of jeans—after all, he often washed his own jeans with towels. But in the end, he decided against it, not wanting to take a chance in case women’s jeans were different from men’s.

He bought soap from the dispenser and started the machine, calling out to Teresa as he left. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

On his way to the grocery store to buy hand-washing detergent—if there was such a thing—it occurred to him that he could get Erin to wash Ash’s clothes tonight. His kind-hearted sister-in-law would assuredly love to help if she knew of Ash’s migraine. Yet, Adam was resolute in handling the situation himself, proud that he knew from his mother’s frequent episodes, exactly what would make her feel better. As a child, his main task had always been to corral his brothers and keep them quiet whenever their mom was suffering with a migraine. But he’d paid attention to his father’s ministrations, and now it was his chance to do the same.

Inside Food Max, he found the detergent for hand washing, opting for the kind made for sensitive skin, because Ash’s skin looked soft and delicate to him. Then he rolled his basket through the food aisles, selecting broth soups and crackers and a loaf of bread. With a quick trip to the pharmacy section, he added two different brands of over-the-counter migraine medicine. Hopefully, she’d brought some migraine pills with her, since she might not be able to fill a New York prescription in Oregon.

Thirty-miles-an-hour seemed intolerably slow as he drove back to unload his groceries and look in on Ash. Slipping inside the dark den where quiet music still played from his phone, he moved close, watching her face as she slept. Resisting t

he temptation to perform another lip-temperature-check, he left her alone and drove back to the washateria to put the towels into the dryer.

“I moved your towels and started the dryer for you.”

Teresa wore a tentative smile, as if hoping for a word of affirmation. Though irritated by her continued meddling, he plastered what he hoped was an agreeable expression onto his face.

“Thank you, Teresa.”

“You’re welcome.” She glowed with pleasure, and he felt like a heel, realizing she must be incredibly lonely at this job with so little personal interaction. “They still have twenty minutes or so,” she said. “I can offer you a cup of coffee if you want to wait up here with me.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some errands to run.”

He left before he could see the disappointment on her face. A short drive took him to Good As Old. In the window of his front door hung a sign proclaiming he would “Be right back!” He unlocked the shop and switched the placard to a “Closed” sign. Most of his business was by appointment, anyway, so he wouldn’t lose much income by closing the shop for a few hours.

On the way back to the laundromat, he swung by City Hall to be sure no stalled inspections were preventing her washer and dryer from being connected. Satisfied the City of Romance wasn’t responsible for her debacle, he returned to the washateria. When Teresa suggested going dancing that weekend, as he exited with a basket of folded towels and washcloths, he made a noncommittal grunting noise. Her voice followed him on the way out the door. “You could bring your friend with you.”

Wary of her unbridled curiosity, he circled the block three times before pulling into Ash’s driveway and parking out of site by the back door. Though he knew he was acting paranoid, he didn’t want to take a chance on fanning the gossip fires. Ash mustn’t think everyone in Romance was always in your business, not respecting your privacy... even if it was mostly true. That was just the sort of thing that would make her go running back to New York.

From his phone, he retrieved clear instructions for laundering delicate items of clothing and set about to wash the rest of her things. Even with no one watching, he felt the blood rushing to his face as he washed the first few undergarments. But he pushed his ridiculous embarrassment aside and focused on finishing his task, taking great care to prevent his calloused fingers from snagging the silky fabric. He laid everything out to dry in one of the spare bedrooms. With good fortune, she might never discover he’d handled her intimate garments. Of course, his luck seemed to run thin where Ash was concerned.

He tiptoed down the wooden staircase and discovered Ash attempting to sit up, her hand on her head as if it might somehow fall off her neck. He hurried to help her, supporting her back as she swung her legs to the floor.

“Why are you up? Do you need something?”

“No,” she whispered. “I just need to visit the restroom.”

“You can lean on me,” he offered.

Her chin jutted forward in an expression that had already become familiar. “No, I can do it myself.”