Chapter 596:
Brad inclined his head and obediently took a piece, though his attention strayed unconsciously to Rylie’s plate.
When she finally tasted the shrimp, a quiet satisfaction washed over him. That single bite filled him with a joy he hadn’t felt in days, as though the simple act of serving her had scattered the shadow he’d been carrying.
Most of the conversation at the table flowed between Dottie and Melany, with Rylie adding the occasional gentle word. Brad remained quiet for the most part, answering only when Dottie directed a question his way.
In time, the strained air softened, easing into something warm and familiar, almost homely.
Outside, the long-awaited downpour finally arrived, raindrops pelting the windows in a sharp, steady rhythm. Thunder rolled in its wake, the sky darkening as the wind wailed through the night.
When the meal drew to a close, Rylie stood and stopped Dottie from clearing the table. “I’ll take care of the dishes. You worked hard preparing dinner. Go relax on the couch and watch a little television.”
Dottie shook her head repeatedly. “Oh, there’s no need. You’re our guests, and it’s only a few dishes, no trouble at all.”
Brad pushed back his chair, rolling up his sleeves as he rose. “I’ll take care of them.”
Dottie quickly waved her hands. “No, no, that won’t do!”
Melany’s eyes gleamed with quiet understanding. Stepping in, she gently steered her mother aside. “It’s fine, Mom. Rylie and Mr. Morgan are like family. You’ve worked hard enough today, so just come sit with me on the couch for a while.”
“Melany, how can you say that?” Dottie frowned at her daughter’s words. Melany gently tugged Dottie aside. Just as her mother drew in a breath to scold, Melany whispered, “Mr. Morgan needs to speak with Rylie, Mom. Give them a little privacy.”
At her words, Dottie’s irritation faded. She quietly sat down on the sofa. Melany switched on the TV, raising the volume enough to cover the clatter of dishes and running water in the kitchen.
Bright light filled the kitchen, reflecting off the heap of dirty dishes stacked in the sink.
Rylie picked up a plate to wash, but Brad stepped closer and turned on the faucet without a word. Warm water spilled over his hands as he rinsed the porcelain.
“I’ll take care of these.”
His deep voice carried as he slid the plate from her grasp. His long fingers moved with a soldier’s steadiness, though not without a touch of awkwardness. She didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped back and picked up a dishcloth to dry.
The small kitchen pressed them close together, the sound of heavy rain and thunder outside blending with the splash of water and the clink of dishes. The air between them was taut with unspoken words.
Brad rinsed a soup bowl, the water sliding over his lathered hands.
After a pause, he spoke again, his tone softened by the hum of the water yet still reaching her clearly.
“What I said at the hospital wasn’t what I meant.”
Rylie’s hand slowed in its motion, though she kept her gaze down. Her lashes trembled, as if betraying what she refused to show.
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.
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