'A Sudsy Surprise' (James Version)

[Alternate Text: A close up on sudsy foam on a black background. ‘A Sudsy Surprise' acts as the title in a bubbly ebony font, dipping into the suds.]

[Sidenote: R’s scarring from the spriggan in Book One will be addressed in the series. I’m simply ignoring it for these writings given their overall lighter tones. 😎 ]

"Verner, I swear—"

You swallow down the rest of your complaint, pressing your lips together after accidentally tasting a bitter yet lemony bubble. Soap suds obscure part of your vision. A foamy mountain is bubbling up from the bucket until you swipe a hand through it, sheering away the excess so you can give Reese an exasperated smile. It's obvious he should continue attracting people rather than help with the technical side.

"How was I supposed to know the proper ratios?" he asks. "My cars are washed for me."

"But did you add perfume or something to—?"

"Lemon essence," he interrupts with a hint of pride. "I always disliked the chemical scent; this allows it to be like an acidic lemonade. Sofia refused to give me the peppermint one."

"Of course she did," you murmur before reaching into the bucket to unearth a sponge that's doubled in size thanks to a coating of suds. You begin wringing it out, while Reese surveys the steadily filling cul de sac, likely sizing up future donors for Mrs. Dorran's charity car wash by assessing car models. It's only when he shakes the water from his hands that you narrow your eyes in suspicion, though they soon widen when he starts stripping off his clothes to reveal swimwear. "Really, Reese?"

He playfully rolls his eyes, continuing to slowly shimmy off his shirt to place it a safe distance from any chemicals, soap, or water. Only the vehicles should be getting thoroughly soaked at a car wash, but he looks ready for the lake, clad in ebony swim trunks. A horn beeps in what could be impatience or acknowledgment.

"Think of the shelter pets," he jokes. "We both know I'm more use out there. Unless you would like a wager to see who can attract more vehicles? Sofia and I or you and Becca?" Reese's competitive fire is stoked as he pitches the idea to you, except his fast delivery suggests excitement too. "Oh, the winner can wash the other's car! Angelique could use it."

Somehow he can stand there looking like a fitness model while still conveying the honest glee of a kid at an amusement park. You're not going to crush that. "When I win, I want vanilla essence for my car's bonus scent," you tease him, which earns his smile shifting into a smirk. "But we do need to wash the cars, not just take the people's shelter donations and smile."

"I can do both… potentially."

Reese waves off your concerns with his hand, adopting a more exaggerated wave as he steps away from your place by the buckets to begin directing the cars. His heart's in the right place; you think everyone's is because this is to help out Mrs. Dorran. You try not to dwell on the one person who's missing from the gang, glancing back at the frothy, lemony mixture to mask how your expression falls. James had a last minute work conflict, but he did call you on the B&B's landline to apologize. It's fine, or it would be, if this wasn't a common occurrence.

Sometimes you question the timing…

He makes time for you, of course, just it—

"Wait, where's his shirt…? Is something up?"

Becca's voice distracts you from staring into the suds. She sets down some more towels, offering you a faintly concerned look after you glance up. "Reese is trying a different kind of strategy," you note. "We're in a competition."

"But is something wrong?" she insists. "We can manage this if you want to swing by the stat—?"

"He didn't offer that this time," you quietly interrupt her as you collect your finalized bucket. "Let's focus on this for Mrs. Dorran."

Becca nods unconvincingly, although her gaze settles on Alina with a newfound interest that you don't feel like parsing out when another horn beeps in what's hopefully encouragement.

[An Hour or So Later…]

. . .

. .

.

"I think it's a blend of pollen and sap. I parked her beneath one of 'em old hickories."

That isn't exactly encouraging…

You peer through the windshield at the elderly man who is speaking to you from his rolled down window. There's a patch of some sticky mystery substance on the hood of his car that you've sacrificed two cloths to. At least it isn't a burbling black or vibrant crimson, just an aged brown like melted down cola soda. "All done."

"Thank you!"

He hands over the money to Becca, while you spray down the car once more to rid it of soap.

A fleeting blip from a siren diverts your focus. It sounds again, echoing for a second, before you see a parade of patrol cars coming down the street with a white pickup truck at the helm leading the slow charge. James is watching you from behind the wheel, pulling into the spot that was vacated by the old man. It takes you a second to realize you're still weakly clutching the nozzle on the hose until you wet your own shoes and then set it back down.

There is now a long line of cars on your side of the street that surpasses Reese's queue.

"Told you so."

Alina's knowing comment doesn't catch your attention as much as Becca's laugh following what she said. They both suddenly find the buckets very interesting when you pivot to face them. The two of them back up to go replenish supplies at an oddly convenient moment as if James's truck door closing shut was a signal.

It probably was.

"[Name]."

He greets you softly without a 'hello' since his tone says it all. James could round the hood of the truck in just a few efficient steps, but he still takes time to approach you, waiting until he detects something in your expression that permits him to draw closer. He does so, except how he reaches for your wrist goes against his typical tentativeness. "Your deputies are right there," you remind him. "We probably shouldn't—"

"You're right here too," James gently yet firmly interjects. "I took the rest of the day off—my unused vacation hours are bordering on a mandated leave…"

You almost smile at his faint humor until he turns your palm over to inspect the pruned quality to your skin. The gloves provided some protection against the water at first, but they eventually became too waterlogged to bother with. You curl your fingers, feeling slightly self-conscious, but he gingerly covers your hand with his, flattening it while also feeling every temporary ridge and wrinkle. James meets your eyes once again after the brief inspection.

"I can take over washing. You deserve a break."

"That should be my line for you," you retort. His grip on your hand is steadfast despite the slick combination of water and soap. "You're sure about staying? If you have work, I understand."

"I'm yours, if you'll have me."

James must be referring to the rest of the day or even the remainder of the car wash, so why did your heart just twinge a little in your chest?

It could have something to do with his muted hope—how he's actually being open while not behind a shut door—how he is smiling for you.

"I want you to stay," you admit.

James says nothing more, though the gentle squeeze to your hand is enough for now.

"That is cheating!?"

"Reese, calm down," Sofia requests. "They're having a moment."

"One rife with perfidy…"

Your smile broadens at Reese's dramatic whining, but you don't bother to glance across the street at him when James is here now.