Page 33 of Cautious Love

“Do you have someone else you’re interested in?”

I frown. “Why?”

Shiloh grins, leaning forward, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “I love a juicy gossip sesh. Who’s the girl? Do I know her? I promise my lips are sealed.”

“Uh, it’s none of that,” I say, abruptly standing from my seat.

“Okay, well, I’ll let her down easy.”

“No, I can do that. I don’t need you to handle my business for me,” I tell her.

She hums and drags her eyes over my body, and I stare at her while she’s occupied with taking me in. I like the way she looks at me, but I don’t like the way that I want to puff my chest out whenshe does. And I one hundred percent don’t need to feelanythingabout my roommate-wife. I need to be professional.

“I have another question for you,” she says.

“I’m bracing myself,” I mutter.

Shiloh snorts. “So why is your bathroom pink?”

I roll my eyes. “June. She thought it would be funny when I bought the house to help me paint. I wasn’t paying attention, she chose the pink, and the towels, obviously. Then I never changed it.”

Shiloh giggles and shakes her head. “It’s pretty funny.”

“I try not to think about it,” I mumble.

“A bachelor with a pink bathroom is…” she trails off, realizing I’m not a bachelor anymore.

I’m a married man.

My stomach twists uncomfortably. “I’ll clean the kitchen,” I mumble, shuffling to the sink.

“No, no, I’ll get it,” she says, rushing to the sink.

I puff out a breath and try to rein in my irritation, but it’s hard to do when I’ve been doing it for two weeks.

“No, Shiloh, I’ll wash the dishes. You don’t do it right,” I mumble the last words under my breath.

She huffs and flips the hot water on anyway. “There’s more than one way to do things, Sheriff stick-up-his-ass.”

I glare at her, and she smirks at me.

“You don’t load the dishwasher right.”

Her brow lifts in challenge. “Then how about you show me, master dishwasher.”

I throw her a look, and it’s clear to me that she’s enjoying messing with the way I do things, but it’s how I do them, and this is my house.

“You put the plates in the wrong place. They fit better here,” I say, pointing to the right place. “When you load your silverware, do it from back to front so you don’t get old food on yourhand for trying to reach in the back. Coffee cups go on the top right of the rack. Small bowls and other things on the left. It’s really not that complicated,” I say and check to make sure she’s comprehending what I said.

She throws her head back and laughs so loud, so obnoxiously, I can’t help but smile.

I like her laugh.

“Owe, owe,” she sighs and takes a deep breath.

“Why is that funny?” I ask her, watching her hold her side.

She shakes her head and turns the water off. “Honestly, it’s kind of cute the way you’re so particular abouteverything,” she says, gesturing out to the house and simultaneously slapping me with bubbles from the dish soap.