Page 112 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Do you have a spare key?”
“I do.” Mike pads over to the pantry cabinet with the row of hooks on the inside. “Huh,” he says as his fingers hover above an empty hook. “Did you borrow my spare set of keys?”
“I borrowedaset of cottage keys the other week when I couldn’t find mine and needed to lock up.” My teeth are chattering. “But those weren’t your spare.”
“Really? Because this is where I keep my spares.”
“No one keeps their spare keys neatly labeled on hooks in their pantry. They keep them under a flowerpot or doormat, in their medicine cabinet or junk drawer.”
“You’re right. This is just where I keep a row of keys exclusively for the convenience of my friend Beatrice.”
Oh no. “Are you saying I’m locked out?”
“No, I have another set.”
Relief eases over my freezing limbs. “Thank goodness.” I stretch out my hand, shaking palm turned up.
“It’s in a safe-deposit box at my bank.”
“What kind of villain keeps his spare keys at his bank?”
“I don’t know, Bea. Where do you keep your spare keys?”
I start frantically checking under the doormat and flowerpots near the back door.
“If there’s a spare key to your cottage out here, we’ve got bigger problems,” Mike says.
My teeth chatter. “I’d take bigger problems right now if it meant a hot shower and my fuzzy socks.”
He props open the door and steps aside. “Come in. Turnabout is fair play.”
I step into his warm kitchen and almost instantly drip a puddle’s worth of salt water on his wood floor.
He swears. “Do I even want to ask?”
“I went for a run.”
“Since when do you run?” He hands me the kitchen towel that was draped over the oven.
“Seriously?” I toss the towel back at him before kicking off my soaked sneakers.
He throws the towel on the floor at my feet and toes up the puddle.
“It’s just I’ve never seen you run…ever.” His dark hair is hanging in his face, and the stubble on his jaw is making me acutely aware of the beads of water sliding down my back.
“Well, I decided to go for a run tonight, and…after ten minutes, I thought a walk on the beach might be better. I wasn’t paying attention…” But I’m paying attention now to his eyes, which flick up to mine, and the curl of his lips as a subtle smile forms on them.
“Big wave?”
“Yes.” I follow him down the narrow hallway. He opens the built-in hutch at the end of the hall and hands me towels.
“I haven’t finished grouting the tile. But the shower is working fine. Go. Before you make any more puddles on my hardwoods.”
I roll my eyes.
He reaches past me and pushes open the door. “Don’t use up all of my shampoo.”
I shower, rinse out my clothes, and wash my hair. I’m tempted to open Mike’s shampoo and conditioner and pour them both down the drain. In the absence of requited love, any strong emotion is better than none. But that much thyme and tea tree oil this close to the ocean could have an environmental impact—poison a sea cucumber at the very least. So I abstain. I do grab his razor and shave my legs, not that I’m especially hairy, but to spite him.
