Page 19 of The Holiday Exchange

“I’m watching you,” I murmur, pointing with both fingers to my eyes and then to the kittens.

“What did you say?” Trevor turns to wait for me.

“Nothing.” I hurry to catch up.

In the master bathroom, Trevor opens a cabinet below the sink and pulls out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton balls. He uncaps the bottle and soaks a cotton ball.

“This is probably going to sting.” Apology marks his expression and we both know there’s no probably.

I turn toward the sink and brace myself on the counter. “Do it.”

He dabs gently and I suck in a breath. “Sweet mother of pearl.”

“All done.” He tosses the cotton in the waste basket and I shove my arm back into my sweatshirt sleeve.

I take a step back just as Trevor leans forward to cap the bottle of alcohol and my foot lands on his. Losing my balance for the second time in five minutes, I reach out for the counter to steady myself. My hand collides with a bottle of mouthwash by the faucet and it tips toward me. The lid flies off when it lands on its side, sending a cascade of blue fluid over the edge of the counter and down the front of my jeans.

“Ah, man!” I grab a hand towel and dab at the front of my pants, but I can tell I’m wasting my time. I look in the mirror and burst into laughter.

Trevor takes a step back, his confusion – and maybe alarm at my questionable sanity – clear on his face.

“I look like I wet myself,” I gasp around peals of laughter.

Trevor chances a small smile. “You kind of do.”

Once I get control of my mirth, I turn to him. “I think we’d better get to work before anything else happens. Although, the way things are going, I’m a little nervous about being around power tools.”

“No power tools today, just more painting.”

“Thank goodness. Also, sorry about the mess.” I hold up the now empty mouthwash bottle. He grabs another hand toweland together we clean up the liquid that made it past me to the floor and across the countertop.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who’s sorry. I guess I didn’t get the cap twisted on well enough.”

We leave the bathroom and head to the kitchen, my wet pants rubbing unpleasantly against my legs.

My discomfort must show on my face because Trevor pauses before opening the door to the garage. “You sure you’re okay? Do you have any extra clothes you could change into?”

“Nope. If I had my gym bag, I might have a pair of shorts, but I left it at home. I wasn’t expecting to exercise this morning.”

“I can lend you something while we put your pants in the dryer.”

I consider his offer. It feels awkward to borrow a pair of pants from Trevor but it can’t be much more awkward than walking around with an uncomfortable pee-ish looking spot on my pants.

“If you think you have some that will fit, I wouldn’t say no to something dry.”

Back to the bedroom we go. He rummages through a drawer until he comes out with a pair of grey joggers. “These have a drawstring, so hopefully they’ll fit well enough to let your jeans dry.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. Be right back.”

I close the door to the bathroom and trade my jeans for the joggers. They’re loose on me as expected, but I tighten the string like Trevor suggested and decide they will work. The legs are way too long, bunching up around my ankles like I’m a kid wearing grown-up pants, but they certainly feel better than my wet jeans.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I do a quick pirouette to show Trevor. “Very stylish, no?”

“You look great.” I see a hint of red creeping up his neck and cheeks. He swallows and clears his throat. “Why don’t I throw those in the dryer for you?”

I relinquish the jeans into his outstretched hand. “Thanks. I’ll just meet you in the garage?”

“Okay.”

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