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.
“You own it? 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.”
“My tab?” She scanned the room. “What kind of laundromat is this?”
“The friendly neighborhood kind.” He grinned. “No cash, no problem. It’s also a good excuse to come back and visit the next time your housekeeper goes on vacation.”
Her smile dimmed. “How do you know I don’t do my own laundry?”
Because he’d lived here long enough to know that women like her rarely separated their own colors and whites. But they also didn’t look at him the way she did, like some decadent dessert they were tempted to try. They never looked at him at all. “You’re right. I shouldn’t assume.”