Page 16 of The Art of Scandal

Sofia frowned. “My anniversary party? It’s our fortieth. You’re both coming, right? People would notice if the mayor wasn’t there.”

“Right, yes. We wouldn’t miss it.” Rachel forced the smile that Sofia wanted, one that suggested fawning gratitude that she was married to someone who mattered.

CHAPTER FIVE

The only laundromat in Oasis Springs had forty washers and dryers, a Pepsi machine, and a television mounted onto the wall that played CNN twenty-four hours a day. Nathan had considered changing the name to something like Fluff n Dry, or the Rinse Cycle, but in the end, he stuck with Oasis Springs Laundry Center, because he believed in truth in advertising. This was not some quirky, upmarket laundromat. It was just a place to wash clothes.

Owning a small business was never the plan. He was supposed to go to college like his brother and major in something that would make him useful. His abuelita pushed him to pursue a degree because getting an education had changed her life. “It made me into a woman,” she used to say proudly, pointing to the diploma on her wall. Nathan heard the part she didn’t say out loud: that he needed to become a man. “Boys like you will always be underestimated. If you attempt nothing, no one will expect more.”

She died two weeks before his first application deadline, and if Nathan weren’t grieving, he might have remembered her advice. Instead, he deleted his admissions forms as soon as the money she left him hit his bank account.

The real estate listing was for a self-service laundromat with a studio apartment attached. Later, he would wonder if he was seduced by the business model: the automated service, the small and sporadic customer base, the ease of living and working in the same building. He’d made a cash offer for a business that wasn’t profitable, instead of doing the smart thing and calling his brother before he signed any paperwork. Joe would have swooped in with his big MBA brain and a PowerPoint presentation to lecture Nathan about how the local market didn’t justify the overhead. But Nathan had always been better at gut feelings than thinking things through. Yes, the decision was impulsive, but he had learned a lot over the last eight years. Front loaders were more efficient than top loaders, even though they cost more up front. Providing coin-operated machines meant people without a bank account wouldn’t have to buy prepaid cards to wash their clothes. Owning it also made him feel useful to people who were often overlooked in Oasis Springs, like frazzled single mothers waiting for a landlord to fix their dryer, or overworked domestic workers venting about their employers’ finicky appliances.

The day-to-day didn’t take much effort. Nathan usually worked out with Joe before opening the doors at six a.m. Then he’d take a cup of coffee to the back office and work on unfinished sketches while listening to Spotify at a volume that would eventually destroy his hearing. Sometimes it took a while to get started. He’d been drawing for years now, but whenever he touched the tip of his pencil to paper, a voice whispered,Still drawing wolves and wizards? Aren’t you embarrassed?It sounded a lot like his father.

Nathan heard a grunt followed by a string of hard clangs that usually signaled his washers were under attack. He eyed the customers scattered throughout the room. One was a middle-aged housekeeper he’d seen three times this week. A young white woman stood in the corner folding towels with AirPods wedged into her ears. And then there was the short Black woman on his left. It took him a minute to recognize Rachel Abbott as his washer’s attacker. Judging from the hard furrow of her brow, it wasn’t about to escape her wrath anytime soon.

She had ditched the cocktail dress for a T-shirt and tight jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that made it look like she rolled out of bed with no fucks to give. Wild, wispy curls framed her neck.

“Damn it!” She slammed the door closed so hard the sound echoed, startling the other customers into nervous frowns. Nathan moved forward as she grabbed a bottle of detergent. “Fuck you, you… machine.”

“Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not the washer’s fault.”

She spun around and her eyes widened when she saw him. “You! What are you doing here?” Her voice was rushed and a little breathless, like she was excited. Or maybe that was just him. His pulse was racing.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Her gaze shifted to the other customers. The blond woman still looked oblivious, but the housekeeper kept glancing in their direction. Rachel tensed. “I’m doing my laundry.” She jabbed a thumb at the washer. “This thing keeps eating my change.”

Nathan moved to a different washer. “Try this one. It’s credit cards only.” He tapped the sign. “You also need to put your clothes in first. They have sensors that adjust the settings based on what you put inside.” He pointed to her clothes on the floor. “May I?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside and avoided his eyes. “Do you work here?”

Anyone else would have gotten a curt yes in response, but Nathan replied, “I own the place,” with a cockiness he didn’t actually feel. Twenty-four hours after the drive-in and he was still trying to impress her.

“Youownit? Seriously?” She grimaced and quickly added, “Sorry! You’re just so young.”

He was relieved she hadn’t said something ignorant about him not looking like a business owner. She didn’t seem like the type, but she was still an Abbott.

“I’m not that young.” He leaned back against the washer and folded his arms. She stared at his bicep, and he flexed a little for her benefit. “Plus, I’ve got a birthday coming up, so I think they’ll let me keep it.” The last bit of tension vanished from her face, and her eyes softened to umber velvet.

“Don’t let last night’s drunken tragedy fool you. I’m not that young either.”

“You weren’t tragic.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m not that nice.”

Her eyes raked over him, lingering in places—his chest, his shoulders—before returning to his face again. “I don’t buy you as a tough guy.”

“It’s the dimple, right?” He rubbed his left cheek.

She laughed. “You’re right. It’s mesmerizing. I’ll try to focus on the right cheek instead.”

“Good. And you’re gonna pay me for that wash.” He nodded to the machine working behind her. “It’s on your tab.”

“Mytab?” She scanned the room. “What kind of laundromat is this?”

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