Peach Salinger
Rhys walks over to the sink and turns on the faucet, wetting a paper towel before handing it to me.
“Here,” he says, his voice gentle. “This should help with the stain.”
I take the towel from him, our fingers brushing for just a moment. I feel my pulse quicken from that slight touch and I’m already reconsidering being in this closed space with him.
This isn’t a good idea.
I start to dab at the tea stain on my blouse. The material is damp and slightly sticky, and I’m all too aware of how close Rhys is standing.
“I’m really sorry about all this,” I mumble, keeping my eyes on the stain. “I should’ve been more careful.”
“You don’t need to apologize. It was an accident, and that client was out of line. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”
I look up at him, surp
