Page 66 of The Guest Cottage
Taking her hand, he drew her inside, locked the door behind them, and then headed to the laundry. Along the way, he labeled the rooms they passed. “Living room, dining, kitchen.” He stepped into the laundry and, with her fascinated gaze on him, stripped off his shirt and then his jeans, dropping both into the washtub.
She sauntered forward with a smile, reached out, and slid her open palm over the back of his boxers. “Well darn, these are dry.”
Grinning at her antics, he stripped them off, too. “Want to shower with me?”
“Will it be like the shower we took in the cottage?”
“Times two.”
Her eyes widened. “Then yes, I want to shower with you.” She looked around. “Which way do we go?”
“We could go up the stairs to my room, but the bathroom down here is bigger.”
“Will we remain down here?”
“If you don’t mind making use of the kitchen table. Otherwise, my bed is upstairs.”
“Small bathroom it is.” She led the way, tugging him along in her haste. “At my age, tabletops don’t sound fun, only uncomfortable.”
He could, and would, prove her wrong on that—someday. Not just a table, but the wall, couch . . . Hell, the floor would do. He had a feeling that with Marlow, any place would be perfect for him, and since he cared, he’d make sure it was perfect for her, too.
But for now, this thing with her was still new, and she was coming off a rollercoaster of disappointments, big decisions, and determination. Her ex had done a number on her, whether she acknowledged it yet or not.
So he’d show consideration and let her call the shots. He could be generous because regardless of the where or how, he was still with Marlow. And that made it more than worthwhile.
CHAPTER9
By the end of the week, it seemed everyone knew her business. Marlow knew Cort hadn’t told anyone, and she doubted Pixie had either. But the good people of Bramble had spread the news among their ranks.
Once the sisters had met Pixie, they’d started putting things together. Herman had already corrected the assumption that Pixie was her sister, not that Marlow would have let that go on anyway. As she’d told Pixie, she wasn’t ashamed of her, and she didn’t want Pixie to be ashamed either.
People made mistakes. Good people did their best to correct them.
That was exactly what Pixie was doing, and Marlow wanted only to applaud her, not bring more strife to her life. Her shifts at the tavern sure were interesting, though.
“So have you and Pixie known each other long?” Butler asked.
Hard to believe this unimposing man was the mayor, but in Bramble, anything was possible. Butler wasn’t tall, but he did appear fit for a sixty-something guy with thick gray hair and an impressive mustache. “Actually no,” Marlow said, while picking up her empties on a sweep through the tavern. “But I knew of her, of course.” There, let him stew on that.
She went on to the next table, where Joann—the woman who ran the dairy bar—was enjoying burgers and fries with a friend.
“Hey, Marlow, I heard Pixie was a distant relative?”
“No.” Marlow smiled. “Can I get you anything else?” When they declined, she left the bill and said, “No hurry on that.”
At the last table, Robin, owner of The Docker restaurant, smiled at her. “Getting the third degree, huh?”
“Seems so.” She picked up Robin’s empty plate to add to her tray.
“They know already. They’re just hoping you’ll confirm it.”
Showing her annoyance, Marlow cocked a brow. “They knowwhatexactly?”
“That Pixie needs help, and you’re wonderful.”
Damn it, now how could she be snide over a comment like that? Obviously, she couldn’t. “I do my best.”
Leaving the room in a hurry, she deliberately avoided eye contact with anyone else. It had been the same every night since the sisters had gotten involved. Poor Pixie wasn’t sure what to do. Bobbi and Gloria had brought her the pieces of a beautiful white wooden crib that they said they’d gotten from a friend.
