Iris had just finished cleaning the crash rooms – even after ten days of cleaning them, she still wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to what she saw and smelled back there – and was drying her hair after her shower. She slipped into the bathrobe that she and Zoe had bought in a sale at an incredible eighty percent off: it was thick terrycloth, warm and soft against her skin. Every time that she put it on, she felt like she was all wrapped up in a large pair of arms, just snuggled up against a broad chest.
Viking’s arms; Viking’s chest.
Jesus Christ, girl. Stop it. He isn’t interested in you that way.
Oh, sure, he showed up at her door at six every morning and watched her bake and talked to her over coffee before heading over to Blue Dragon Ink. He said goodnight to her every night before s
