Page 21 of Things We Hide from the Light
I’d barely glanced at the paper on top, an unflattering mug shot from a few years ago, when I heard, “You find something?”
Startled, I dropped the folder closed, my heart kicking into high gear, before realizing Nash was calling from the bathroom.
I took a step back from the table and blew out a breath. “Coming,” I yelled back weakly.
When I returned to the bathroom, my heart tripped over itself. Nash was now shirtless, his sopping wet undershirt on the floor next to the tub. And he was smiling. Like full-on hot-guy smile.
Between the half-frontal and the grin, I froze in place and appreciated the view.
“If you don’t stop flinging water everywhere, you’re gonna flood the barbershop,” Nash warned the dog as she raced from one end of the tub to the other. He splashed water from the faucet at her and she let out a series of hoarse yet delighted barks.
I let out a laugh. Both man and dog turned to look at me.
“Figured I’d get her in the tub to make sure she wasn’t gonna go all gremlin on us,” Nash said.
The man’s life might be gathering dust, but that heroism went bone-deep. The splinter of guilt grew into something bigger, sharper, and I counted my lucky stars that he hadn’t actually caught me snooping.
There was a fine line between necessary risk and stupidity.
I joined him on the floor, kneeling on one of the folded towels, and handed over the cup. “You two look like you’rehaving fun,” I said, trying to sound like a woman who hadn’t just invaded Nash’s privacy.
The soggy little gremlin set her front paws on the lip of the tub and looked up at us with adoration. Her ratty tail blurred with happiness, sending droplets of dirty water everywhere.
“See if you can hang on to her while I douse her,” Nash suggested, filling the cup with clean water.
“Come here, little hairy mermaid.”
We worked side by side, scrubbing, sudsing, rinsing, and laughing.
Every time Nash’s bare arm brushed mine, goose bumps exploded across my skin. Every time I felt the urge to move closer instead of putting some distance between us, I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. I was close enough to see every wince he made when he moved his shoulder in a way that didn’t agree with the damaged muscles. But he never once complained.
It took four water changes and half an hour before the dog was finally clean.
Her wiry fur was mostly white with a scattering of dark patches on her legs. She had one spotted ear and one brown and black one.
“What are you going to call her?” I asked as Nash plucked the dog from the tub. She licked his face with exuberance.
“Me?” He maneuvered his head away from the pink tongue. “Stop licking me.”
“Can’t blame her. You’ve got a lickable face.”
He gave me one of those smoldering looks before gently setting her down. She shook, sending water in a six-foot radius.
I grabbed the towel and draped it over her. “You found her. You get naming rights.”
“She had a collar. She’s probably already got a name.”
She wiggled under my hands as I rubbed her furry little body dry. “Maybe she deserves a new one. A new name for a fresh start.”
He eyed me for a long beat until I wanted to squirm under his perusal. Then he said, “You hungry?”
“Scout? Lucky?”I peered down at the now clean dog as I programmed a pot of coffee.
Nash looked over from the pan of eggs he was scrambling. “Scrappy?”
“Nope. No reaction. Lula?” I sank down to the floor and clapped my hands. She pranced over to me and happily accepted my affectionate petting.
“Gizmo? Splinter?”
