The Highland Fling(71)

“What are you doing?”

I startle, dropping my phone on the counter. With a smirk, Rowan picks it up and glances at the screen. He raises a brow as he shows it to me, as if I don’t know what’s on it.

“Power-washing videos?”

“Don’t judge!” I snatch my phone away and put it in my back pocket. Once we closed, I moved the tables and chairs outside. Earlier, Rowan said he would take care of them by literally chopping them into firewood. I told him I didn’t care what he did with them, but if he did decide to chop them up, I was going to need a slo-mo video of that, of course with his shirt off. From the look in his eyes, I think he’s going to deliver. We decided to close the shop for the next few days while we do small renovations. Pretty sure the public isn’t going to miss us much.

“Did you bring it?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.

“Yes, but you’re not—”

“Balderdash, I’m doing it.” Pushing past him, I walk over to the door, where I spot the hefty machine. Beautiful in all its splendor, a knight of destroying grime. A fighter of fungus. A true champion of cleanliness. The one, the only . . . the power washer. “Ryobi 2300, nice choice,” I say, taking in the robust beast. “Does it come with the bonus turbo nozzle?”

“It’s disturbing how much you know about power washers.”

“Does it?” I ask, needing to know the answer.

“The nozzle’s attached,” Rowan says, sounding slightly terrified.

“Beautiful. And you hooked it up to the hose already. This is a dream.” I pick up the metal spray wand and test the weight.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Bonnie.”

“From what I’ve read, you just press this button.” The power washer turns on with a soothing hum. “And then—” I pull on the handle and blast water out of the nozzle. The small kickback startles me. I back into the doorframe of the shop, flinging my arm out—and spraying Rowan directly in the crotch.

Uh-oh.

Man.

Down.

“Oh God.” I drop the spray handle and run over to his body, curled on the floor. “Rowan, are you okay?”

“Told you . . . not to,” he says, breathing hard and cradling his crotch.

“Did it . . . did I . . . ?” Oh God. “Did I spray your balls off?”

He lets out a dry cough and shakes his head. “Nah, baws are in place, but you definitely took out a few of the cadets.”

“Sperm?” I ask, rubbing his back.

“Yes, Bonnie . . . sperm.”

“Hopefully they were going to be slow swimmers anyway.” I pat his back, and my eyes stray to the power washer. Even in my guilt, I can’t help a tug of longing. “I hope you know, I truly wish the best for your crotch at this moment, but I’m going to need you to get up so I can go to town on these floors.”

He glances up at me from his fetal position. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. I can feel it in my bones that I’m a power-washing wizard.” I tug on his arm. “Let’s get you up on the counter, out of range, and you can watch over me while you nurse your boaby and baws.”

“I don’t think anything is out of range for you,” he groans, slowly getting up.

I keep a steady grip on him as he hobbles to the counter and hoists himself up. “I wasn’t prepared for the wand to jump like that. Knowing the kind of power that electric puppy is packing, I’ll be in a properly prepared stance now.” I pat him on the leg and am moving to walk away when he snags my arm and spins me toward him.

He kisses me quickly. “You might have destroyed any possible boners for today, but hearing your confidence . . . well, it very well might restore what you just destroyed.”

“Is my confidence a turn-on?”

“Your confidence makes me happy, Bonnie,” he says seriously. “Makes me believe you’re starting to find that purpose, and that’s what matters.”

Taken aback, I say, “Wow, McGrumpyshire, you’re about to get yourself laid.”

He groans, shifting to the side. “Wait until tomorrow.”

Chuckling, I give him one more kiss and then go back to the power washer and pick up the wand. “Should I start in the corner?”

“Aye, and then work all the dirt toward the door.”

“Okay. I got this.”

With a deep breath, I get into my stance, hold the wand with a good stiff arm, and then pull back on the trigger. I get a small kickback, but this time I’m prepared and hold strong, immediately blasting grime off the old wood floors. I perform a spot test, like all good power washers, no more than a few square inches, but as the water blasts against the hardwood floors, I immediately see how much this is going to change the look of the shop. When I release the trigger, letting the water slosh for a second and clear out, I lean forward and marvel at the stunning oak floor that’s been here this whole time.

“Rowan, it’s beautiful.”

“Is it? I honestly can’t remember at this point.”

“It is, and the power washer doesn’t seem to pull up any of the wood or stain. Shall I continue?”

“You’re apparently the expert. Go ahead.”

Excitement pulses through me. I get into position . . . and blast.