“Right.” He nodded as he pressed one of the buttons. The clothes eventually stopped spinning as the water drained from the machine. “There you are.”

“How did you do that?” she cried.

He opened the door. “You have an off button, dear.”

Antonia shook with fury, cursing herself for panicking in the face of logic. As she reached into the machine and pulled out the garments, she found that all of her clothes were still soaking wet. “Oh my god,” she said. “How am I going to dry these before nightfall?”

Aiden took a T-shirt from the pile she cradled away from her body. “We start wringing,” he said, twisting the excess water into her kitchen sink. “And then we’ll hang them on the line.”

Antonia stared at him, his powerful forearm muscles rippling as he wrung her clothes. “You don’t have to do that,” she said in a tired voice. Her day had started off so productive and now this frustration thwarted her. Watching him help her made her feel foolish. “You’re spending the day cooking and cleaning for me.”

He smiled to himself. “It’s not a big deal, Antonia.”

But it was a big deal. A man had never helped her with the little things. His easy confident manner was a stark contrast from her constant anxiety. Between the mess she left in Chicago and this new environment, hypervigilance was threatening to break her down. Right now, this did not feel like a relaxing vacation in the Irish countryside. Antonia’s heart began to pound and her face grew warm. Before she could stop herself, her face crumpled and she began ugly crying. “It’s just very nice of you,” she said, wiping her nose.

Aiden looked up from his wringing in alarm. “It’s just a washing machine.”

She shook her head. “It’s not just the washing machine,” she said as the heavy pile of clothes slipped from her tired arms. Antonia stared dumbly at the wet articles that plopped onto the kitchen floor. Great, I’ll have to wash those again. “I’m making a mess out of this trip.”

“But it’s only been a couple days.”

The dam broke and she didn’t know what to do. She was officially crying to the handsome man from next door. She probably looked like an unhinged lunatic. “But it’s the start of something shitty,” she wailed.

Aiden gathered her in his arms and pulled her head against his muscled chest. “You don’t know that,” he said, his voice gentle in her ear.

She wanted to stay like this forever, his arms wrapped like a warm blanket around her body. One damp hand kneaded the middle of her spine, while the other cradled the back of her head. His fingers wove through the tight curls of her nape, massaging the ache away. She sniffed and said in a low voice, “I’m getting your shirt wet.”

“Not as wet as your intensive-washed clothes.” His voice rumbled deep from his chest.

Antonia couldn’t help her laughter. “Shut up,” she said through her tears.