Chapter 36
thirty-six
ELLIE
“Okay, now go ahead and put the mixer on, and I’ll grab the chocolate chips,” I tell Rowan while I open the door to the freezer, pulling out my favorite brand of chocolate chips.
Luckily, I had them on hand. I went to the store the other day for some regular groceries but ended up in the baking aisle. I added some simple ingredients, wondering if this would spur some inspiration for me to bake. I haven’t touched any of it until now.
“You keep them in the freezer?” Rowan asks.
“Yes, I like to put them in there. Not everyone does, but I think it helps during the baking process. Don’t ask me how. I have no idea. It just works.” I put the bag on the counter and looked at the stand mixer. “Are you going to turn it on?”
Rowan startles. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I did all of this by hand at my place. I don’t have one of these things.”
“You see that lever on that side?” I point to the side of the mixer. “Flip it to the other side and it locks the top of this in place.” I place a hand on the top of the mixer. Rowan does it and then looks at me. “Then, on the other side, you have the same lever, and the numbers represent the speed.”
I see Rowan’s hand go over it to turn it on. “Oh, that’s it? That’s simple.”
“Yeah, but?—”
He turns it on at the highest speed, and flour goes everywhere. It hits my face and then I look at Rowan, and he’s covered more than me. His hands are out in front of him and he’s too busy trying to stop the flour with his hands instead of the lever.
“ Shit, shit, shit,” he shouts repeatedly.
I laugh and quickly turn it off, slowing it down to a stop. Rowan’s eyes have gone wide; his mouth slightly opens out of horror, and he looks at me. The flour that’s in his hair whips into the air. I keel over in a laughing fit.
His chest rises and falls quickly. “What the hell just happened?”
I try to talk through the laughter. “You put it on the highest setting,” I point at it.
“I put it on five. Isn’t five slow, and then one is fast?”
I pinch my brows together and continue to laugh. “Five is the highest speed.”
He looks back at it and carefully pushes the lever to number one. The mixer slowly starts up at a calming speed, the ingredients mixing beautifully. Rowan drops his head down and lets out a sigh. The flecks of flour float in the air. We brush the flour off our clothes as much as we can, but Rowan’s hair is pure white.
I grab his hand and walk him to the bathroom. “Here, come on.”
When we get there, I open the shower curtain and turn on the water. His eyes roam to the tub faucet, pouring with water, then to me.
“Get on your knees,” I tell him.
He widens his eyes, and the corner of his lip tugs into a smirk. “I know we used to be in a relationship, but you’re coming on a little strong.”
I tilt my head. “Ha, ha.” I tug at his wrist. “I’m going to wash your hair for you.”
“You don’t need to do that. It’s fine.” He ruffles his hair with both hands, making a bigger mess. “See?”
Flour continues to float through the air when I wave my hand around, getting it out of my face.
I tug on his wrist again. “Yes, I do. You look like Casper the ghost.”
“Casper, the friendly ghost.”
“Just get on the floor, Rowan.”
He finally does what I ask but gives me the stink eye the entire time. I reply with a pretty smile. When he gets on his knees, he grabs the back of his shirt with one hand and pulls it off and over his head.
My lip’s part when I look at his smooth, tanned skin and the muscles that work through his back. I didn’t think about him taking his shirt off. I figured he would have left it on.
“You have a lot of bottles in here. Is all this shampoo?” His voice echoes off the tub and through the small space.
He looks at me, and when I realize I’m still staring at him, I snap out of it. I look at the bottles. I have no shame when it comes to my shower game. There are multiple bottles of shampoo and conditioner in different scents. I base the scent on my mood of the day.
Lavender, vanilla, coconut, lemons. I also had a body scrub that smelled like a margarita. Riley stole that one from me.
“Yeah, do you have a specific scent you like?” I ask. “What type of mood are you in?”
He turns around. “My mood?” He looks back at the display of bottles. “Use whatever one is your favorite.”
My favorite. The one that’s used the most out of all of them. It’s a strawberry vanilla scent that pairs with a conditioner. I grab the bottle and pour some into my hand, lathering it up.
He grips the edge of the tub and leans forward under the bathtub faucet. His shoulder blade muscles are working, and his biceps are flexing. His deep brown hair hits the rush of the water and makes it look much darker than it is.
I let my eyes wander over his skin. Every freckle that covers his shoulders. The tiny birthmark that sits between his shoulder blades. The way his neck moves gracefully.
“I’m ready,” Rowan says, pulling my attention while he’s still bent under the water.
“Okay, go ahead and sit up. I’ll try not to get any soap in your eyes.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
After I wash his hair, he offers to do the same for me, and I am not going to pass up the opportunity to have my hair washed by him. His large hands brush gently over my wet hair, letting it suds up perfectly. He takes his time to massage my scalp as well, causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head.
I’m sure I let out a soft moan because he stopped for a moment and then continued again. I was expecting Milo to come in here and see what was going on, but he was sleeping in the sun that was bathing him through the windows. I wouldn’t have moved either.
When Rowan’s done washing my hair, he grabs a towel from the closet and gently dries it for me. I smile through the whole thing.
“Want me to brush your hair for you?” he asks, wrapping the towel around his neck.
His shirt is still off, and I wonder if that’s on purpose. I won’t question it. I look down at my own shirt and it’s still covered in flour and a little wet in random spots.
“Can I change out of my clothes?” I ask.
He looks down at my shirt and back into my eyes. His piercing, deep blues have me weak in the knees. I force myself to keep my hands at my sides, trying not to touch his chest. My eyes trail down from his to his strong jaw that’s covered with scruff, to his collarbones, over his chest, and down to his abs, where a dark, happy trail dips into his jeans.
I feel my head tilt, then force my eyes back up to him. A playful smirk is on his face, and I roll my eyes, pushing past him. A smile escapes my lips.