Cherry squawked as he ran out of the house and towards his own. He grabbed all the cleaning supplies he could find, tied a handkerchief around his head and pulled on an old T-shirt. Val was already situated in her recliner when he returned, and she looked him up and down with a huff.
“Get on with it, then,” she said.
Pember nodded, dropping the mop bucket, broom and caddy of cleaning sprays onto the floor, and got to work.
It was already gone ten o’clock when Blake’s car pulled up. The rumble of the engine cut out after a few minutes, followed by the sound of the front door and George’s claws skittering in the kitchen. Pember was sweating, his yellow-gloved hands and bare arms completely covered in the chalky remnants of wet dust.
Valerie dozed in her chair, which must have been her usual sleeping place if the deep staining around the head cushion was anything to go by. Pember clicked off the television and stretched towards the ceiling. His shoulders ached like crazy, and it was a wonder he had any fingernails left under the gloves after scrubbing between the kitchen tiles.
All in all, the kitchen looked much cleaner, but it would take a lot more work before he was truly satisfied. He sighed as he shuffled to the back door with the mop bucket, coughing when the cool night air hit his throat. He almost sloshed the filthy water over his shoes, but managed to direct it down the drain.
“What are you doing?” A deep voice spoke to his right.
Pember jerked his head up and saw Blake leaning over the fence. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his glasses pushed back into his hair. His lip twitched as his eyes drifted over Pember’s dust-stained face and filthy T-shirt.
“She let me clean,” he said, holding up the mop bucket in triumph. “Well, only the kitchen, but it’s a start.”
Blake’s mouth opened and closed, eyes flicking from his ears, to his bare arms, to the bob of his flushed neck.
“You… you look—” Blake cleared his throat and shook his head. “You look like you were very thorough.”
Pember nodded. “Yeah. I tried. I doubt she’ll let me loose again any time soon. I think she’s angry with me.”
Blake cocked a brow. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Said I used omega mumbo jumbo, then acted like I was trying to seduce her.”
The alpha coughed back a choked sound. “I see. And were you?”
Pember flushed. “What? No! Her mate only died three years ago, and she must be, what, ninety?”
Blake smirked, “Is that too old for you?”
“Only by about sixty years.”
The alpha grinned and ran a hand through his hair, knocking the glasses off his head. He caught them, folded them up and tapped them against his chin.
“And how old are you, Pember?”
The way Blake said his name sent a fizzing sensation up Pember’s spine. He dropped the bucket and busied himself with wringing out the mophead. He hoped on everything holy that the light from the kitchen window wasn’t enough to show the blush creeping up his neck.
“Twenty-four. Twenty-five in June.”
Blake tilted his chin, brows pulling up in surprise. “I thought you were older.”
Pember scoffed. “What makes you say that? Don’t tell me I have wrinkles?”
Blake’s tongue slid out to touch the corner of his mouth. When he didn’t reply, Pember stopped wringing the mop and looked up.
“Well?”
“You have very sad eyes.”
Pember grew still at that.
“Well,” Pember eventually said, sniffing as he pulled the yellow Marigolds off his hands. “I shall endeavour to looklesssad next time I see you.”
The side of Pember’s mouth pulled up into a half smile, because he couldn’t quite muster a full one.
