They both burst out laughing. “I guess? Jeez. What does that even say about me?” She finished loading her laundry into the washer and grimaced. “Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“I forgot my detergent all the way upstairs.”

“You can use mine,” he offered, nodding his head to where the big red bottle sat on top of another set of washers.

“What does yours smell like?” she asked, doing something that only made sense because she didn’t give it any sort of lingering thought and stepped behind him, burying her nose in the fabric of his shirt between his two shoulder blades.

He didn’t even break pace in his folding. “Did you just smell me?”

“I did.”

And he smelled freaking amazing. Cat had no idea what his laundry detergent smelled like. All her frisky brain had registered was man pheromones (very delicious). He smelled like a snow leopard stalking through a stand of icy pines. That made zero sense, but it was the best she could do. He’d discombobulated her with his man scent.

She wordlessly took some of his detergent and turned around to see him smiling to himself.

“What’s that smile for?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re funny.”

She tossed the detergent into the washer and recapped the bottle. “How so?”

“Well, for starters you just washed all your laundry in one load, without separating. Who does that?”

She turned and hoisted herself onto the counter where he was folding laundry. “I’m a wild animal, Quentin. Thoroughly undomesticated. Pass those over, I’ll help fold.”

He gave her a look but handed over a pile of undershirts.

“No tighty-whiteys to fold?” She batted her eyelashes.

He just rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. It was fun how easy he was to amuse. She considered that an excellent trait.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked after a quiet minute of companionable folding.

“Anything.”

“What exactly is it about my cousin?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“What is it about him that has you hiding around corners and trying to time your walk to the train with him?”

“Oh.” She thought for a second. Jared’s appeal could be neatly summed up by that one cartoon cat whose tongue rolls out of his mouth and down the stairs. But Quentin likely wanted an answer more nuanced than that. So, Cat thought of a better way to put it. “He looks like he lives inside an advertisement for expensive watches. I used to think it was a cologne ad. But nope, his aesthetic is definitely top-of-the-line watches.”

Quentin laughed. “What?”

“You know, he’s all toned forearms and broody stares. One look at him and you feel like you’re on a hardwood speedboat sipping a martini at sunset. In black-and-white. You know, like a Rolex ad.”

“So, basically, he’s hot.”

Cat nodded vigorously. “Absolutely smoking.”

Quentin snapped the wrinkles out of a dress shirt. “And that’s what you’re looking for? Martinis and forearms?”

He was facing away from her while he carefully folded the shirt. His coppery hair was longer than when she’d first met him, just starting to curl at the ends. She’d spent so little time with him, but already he was so familiar to her. Something about his presence was calming. He was like warm sun on a comfy couch. He was where she wanted to be.