I helped him clear the table and start the dishes. To my surprise, he filled the sink with soap.
"You always wash dishes by hand when you have a perfectly good dishwasher?"
He used a sponge to scrub the first one. "It's just me here. Not worth running the dishwasher."
"I can dry." There was something insanely intimate about working together to complete a domestic task. I wanted to get rid of this soft feeling I was getting for him. He'd shared a tiny sliver of himself, and it wasn't nearly enough, yet my entire being was yearning for something more out of him. "You think we can work together?"
He rinsed the suds from a dish and handed it to me. "It's just a few short months, right? Presumably Eve will be back once the baby's born."
I took the dish from him, carefully avoiding touching his fingers. "I'm not so sure about that. She might take a few months of maternity leave."
"Makes sense."
"If you don't think this can work—" I began, wanting him to give his opinion.
He paused for a second. "I think we can keep things professional."
I set the plate in the rack to dry and accepted another one from him. "Me too."
A smile spread over his face. "You're not my best friends' younger sister. You're not irritating at all. You're a business associate."
I smacked his bicep, which was surprisingly hard. "Hey. There's an insult in there."
He grinned. "Couldn't help it."
"We're supposed to be professional, remember? We can't fall into old dynamics."
He raised a brow as he grabbed another dish. "No teasing or putting anyone down. Got it."
I sighed. "I have a feeling this is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done."
He handed me the last piece of silverware, and he removed the stopper. The water circled the drain as he leaned a hip against the counter. "We can't let Eve down."
"We're in this together."
He nodded.
I dried the last fork and put it in the rack, setting aside the now-damp towel. We stood close, too close, and if I didn't get out of here, I might do something I'd regret. Like touch or even kiss him. My heart rate picked up at the thought. "I should get going."
He raised a brow. "So soon?"
"We ate dinner and cleaned up." What else was there to do if this wasn't a date?
He inclined his head toward the pink bakery box. "But you brought dessert."
I shook my head, backing away. "You can have it for later."
He walked over to the box, lifting the lid. "Chocolate cake."
"It's a small one," I said, feeling weird about sticking around any longer.
He looked up at me. "Will you share it with me?"
I nearly groaned. How could I say no? We were supposed to be getting along, and he was actually trying. "Okay."
He grinned, and my heart skipped a beat. He was gorgeous when he smiled. I felt hot all over. Why didn't he do it more often? Was it because it was lethal to any woman within a mile radius? I was a sucker for a bad boy who smiled.
He got out a knife and cut it, setting two perfect slices on plates. "Let's eat in the living room. It's more comfortable there." He was already walking in that direction, and I couldn't do anything but follow him.