Page 88 of My Best French Wedding

Maybe Hildy needed a signature gesture to set herself apart. She pictured herself winking uncontrollably. That would for sure win friends and influence people.

But hey, that was a tomorrow problem, and she still needed to tackle today. The itinerary made it sound like most people would be eating with their families tonight. Which wasn’t an option for Hildy, since she was flying solo. By design rather thanabandonment, since she couldn’t risk letting her relatives loose anywhere near here, but it still promised to be a lonely evening.

Not a big deal! There must be at least one or two pizza places that delivered to the college dorm where all the fellowship kids were staying. Her uncle had offered to put her up in a hotel instead, but Hildy wanted the full experience. By this time tomorrow, she’d have a whole day of workshops behind her, and plenty of people to hang out with. Maybe she and Corinne would bond over breakfast, if her roommate consumed anything more substantial than black coffee and snark.

Hildy frowned at the bed not covered in Corinne’s clothes. When female business leaders talked about claiming your space, they probably didn’t mean a plastic-covered brick of a twin mattress in a rundown dorm, but everyone had to start somewhere. She pulled out her phone, murmuring as she typed: “How to make a bed.”

Who knew you were supposed to wash brand-new sheets before sleeping on them? On the off chance it wasn’t a scam concocted by Big Detergent, Hildy felt compelled to follow the multistep instructions she’d found online. The only problem was that laundry was not among the skills she’d planned to acquire this week, reasoning that it would be easier to pack extra underwear than waste crucial reporting time washing her own clothes.

That was fine! She could roll with a change in plans, because she was a mature and resourceful person who conveniently had nothing else going on this evening. How hard could it be? Put the clothes in the big hole and add detergent… once she acquired said detergent. After that she’d worry about the array of dials and buttons. (Although seriously, why were there so many? You’d think it was a small aircraft.)

You found the laundry room, Hildy reminded herself. Step one,in the bag—no thanks to the RA who was supposed to be on duty at the deserted front desk. It would have been nice to think someone knew where she was in case this basement lived up to its potential as a crime scene, but oh well!

The imaginary trailer for aWho Killed Hildy?podcast had barely started playing in her head when the lights switched off, plunging the laundry room into darkness. The package of sheets made a slapping sound as it hit the ground, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out her whimper of alarm.

“Shit,” said a voice from the other end of the room.

The lights flickered back on, and Hildy forced her lungs to expand. She had the strap of her purse stretched between her hands like she was about to strangle someone. Good to know her crisis response was fight rather than flight.

“I’m really sorry,” the guy hovering at the base of the stairs called out. “I didn’t realize there was anyone down here.”

“That’s okay. I have a strong heart.”

“I’m Walter.” It sounded like another apology. His shoulders hunched like he felt bad for taking up so much vertical space, which reduced the creepy factor of him being male and blocking the exit. It also helped that he was wearing cargo shorts and a ratty T-shirt, as opposed to a long black robe with a scythe in one hand.

“Hildy,” she yelled back. “Are you by any chance here for the Pachner Fellowship?” Because he did not seem laid-back enough for college.

“Yeah. You?”

She nodded before bending to retrieve the sheets. “I don’t suppose you know how to work these things?”

“The washer?”

“I’m not familiar with this model.” Or any others, but he didn’t need to know that.

As Walter slouched across the laundry room, Hildy took a closer look. He was not what most people would call hot, but thepotential was there, once his weight caught up with his height. His hair had the opposite problem—too much volume, in the wrong places—a relatable issue in this humidity. (Hildy suspected she looked like she’d been struck by lightning.) Was his skin perfect? No. But if you looked past the scattering of pimples, the long straight nose and dimpled chin would likely be handsome on his grown-up self.

When he smiled, Hildy got a sneak peek at future Walter’s charm. Her fingertips tingled—though that was mostly relief at the thought of having a friendly face to look for tomorrow morning.

“Do you have quarters?”

“What?” Hildy struggled to jump from her current train of thought (isn’t it strange how you can tell just from looking into someone’s eyes that he’s smart) to unzipping her purse.

Walter frowned at the handful of coins she dropped in his hands. “For the washer,” he said gently.

It was the mildest possible correction, but Hildy felt her face heat anyway. Of course he wasn’t asking her to pay him. She scooped the quarters out of his hand, blush intensifying at the slightly sweaty skin-to-skin contact. To her relief, the coin slot was easy to find, now that she knew to look for one.

“I feel like I should get a gumball out of this,” she said, dropping in a quarter.

He put a hand on her arm when she started to shove the coin slot into the machine. “Better put your clothes in first.” Walter averted his gaze like she might be holding a pile of G-strings and push-up bras.

“It’s just sheets,” she reassured him. “I haven’t even slept on them yet.”

“You’re washing clean sheets?”

“Thank you! It’s bizarre, right? Is this why adults are so stressed? Their lives are filled with made-up chores.”

He nodded slowly, like he was giving her theory serious thought. It was a nice change from home, where everyone smiled vaguely when she talked, as if they were indulging her childish babble while counting down the seconds until they could bail.