Page 45 of Raise The Bar
And nothing will come between us
On the first night in August
The first day in August
Chapter 25
Callum
“Is that TLC?”
Maggie stops humming to herself and throws an incredulous look over her shoulder at me.
“Please. It’s clearly Salt-N-Peppa.”
“Of course,” I groan. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“Geez. We’re very sensitive about our 90’s girl groups, aren’t we?”
“Everyone should recognize ‘Shoop’. It’s ‘Shoop’.”
It’s too hot in this kitchen to argue. I readjust my t-shirt, which is clinging to my body, the sweat on my skin acting as a bonding agent with the cotton fabric. I’m sure the apron, gloves, and goggles I’m wearing at Maggie’s insistence aren’t helping. Even with several fans going, the heat is intense. Thankfully, I’m from Tampa so I’m used to intense heat. Besides, the heat in the kitchen is nothing compared to the heat consuming me as I watch Maggie sing into a hand blender she used to mix her latest concoction.
“Do you always sing ‘Shoop’ when you’re making soap?” I ask, leaning against the counter. I’d volunteered to help out anytime she needed it and today she took me up on my offer. I was happy to come as I’ve been curious to see the process for myself. That and because I haven’t seen her in four days and my body is going through something akin to withdrawal.
I love seeing her in her element. Her movements are effortless. It’s obvious she’s completed the process countless times. I bet if I put a blindfold on her, it wouldn’t even slow her down. The thought of blindfolding her is a bit too appealing and I adjust myself, again.
“Yes,” she admits. “But I…nevermind.”
“What?”
“It’s nothing,” she flushes and pushes her safety goggles up her nose with her bicep, careful not to let her rubber gloves touch her skin. I reach up to adjust my own goggles. My gloves are clean because I haven’t been close enough to the action to need them.
“Tell me anyway.”
“You’ll think I’m weird.”
“I already think you’re weird,” I assure her. “Tell me, Lois.”
“I change the words in my head. I sing ‘soap’ instead of ‘Shoop’.”
I purse my lips to hold back my smile. “I’m not following. You’re going to have to sing it for me.”
Maggie sighs and rolls her eyes like she thinks I’m insufferable, but I know she’s going to do it. “Soap..soap-a-dope…soap-a-dope…soap-a-dope-a-dope-a-dope.” She dances as she sings, and I swear the temperature rises another ten degrees.
“God, you’re so weird.” I grin when she laughs, her tight curls bouncing on top of her head.
“You’re the worst.” She launches a dish cloth at my head, laughing. “I blame my dad. He was always changing the lyrics of songs to fit whatever we were doing. Driving, shopping, cleaning. I still can’t scrub a floor without singing ‘we will, we will, mop you.’” She stomps her feet in time to her song, smiling fondly at the memory. My heart skips a beat.
“He sounds fun. You two are close?” I make myself useful by stacking things that need to be cleaned in the kitchen sink.
“Of course,” she says, shutting off the hand blender and giving it a couple of taps on the pot in front of her. She walks it to the sink, careful not to drip anything on the floor. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’ve talked about your mom, but not your dad.”
