Page 51 of Mayhem and Minnie

Our noses are almost touching.

“You need to relax, Marlowe,” she whispers, her voice suddenly a different flavor from before—still sweet but somehow veiled in confidence. “You’re too tense. When is the last time you’ve had fun?”

That sobers me up.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“I don’t do fun,” I grit out and push her off me.

She falls in the puddle of water with a splash.

Finally cured of this momentary insanity, I get up and wring my shirt dry.

“I’ll put a mop and a bucket by the door. I want this mess cleaned up within an hour,” I tell her sternly.

She regards me curiously, but I don’t stick around to hear her reply. I turn my back and leave the laundry room, heading straight for my suite to take a shower and wash this pollution off my skin.

When an hour on the dot has passed and I’m freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, I go downstairs to check on Minnie’s progress.

To my surprise, the entire laundry room is spotless, and Minnie appears to be halfway dry. She’s changed into another of the shirts I gave her, and the washing machine is once more running normally.

I grunt a reluctant approval.

Perhaps not all hope is lost.

What is lost, however, is my sleep.

The sun has already risen, and I hate sleeping while the sun is up. That means I’ll have to face the day sleep-deprived.

I let out a loud sigh.

That’s what I get for trying to be kind.

“Come,” I tell her, motioning toward the kitchen.

She regards me for a moment, perhaps waiting for some praise, which will not be forthcoming. Eventually, she follows behind.

She hesitantly takes a seat at the table while I move around the kitchen and start the coffee machine.

“Coffee?” I ask, glancing back at her.

She’s fidgeting with her fingers on the counter.

“Do you want coffee?” I ask again.

She bites her lip.

“I’ve never had it before,” she answers slowly.

I nod, then go about making two cups of coffee. I take mine black but just in case, I rummage for some milk and sugar and place them on the table. When the coffee is done, I hand her one cup and take a seat across from her and drink my own.

She watches the steam rising from the cup with an odd amount of curiosity before she leans down to sniff the liquid. She scrunches her nose.

After a few moments of deliberating, though, she brings the cup to her lips and takes a sip.

“Ew,” she cries out, making a face and pushing the cup away from her.

A smile pulls at my lips. I expected that. Perhaps I didn’t warn her on purpose—payback for being a messy little heathen.

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