Bleach Proof Apron 소설 & 이야기

She follows without hesitation, still unbothered by the stain in a way that suggests she is either very rich or very unflappable or both. I find the bathroom off the side corridor, away from the hall, and locate the cleaning supplies in the cabinet above the sink. I pull out wipes and hand them to her. She takes them and begins working at the stain with the measured attention of someone who has dealt with worse things than a spilled drink. The stain is not coming out. I can see it from here. The fabric has already absorbed too much of it. I am aware of how much a gown like this probably costs and I am thinking about how to phrase an apology that is proportionate to it.

I cleaned up myself and washed off every part of my body with the all so amazing fragrance of a shampoo. Note the sarcasm. I dried my body with my towel and used it to tie around my wet hair. I brushed my teeth and put on my undergarments. I grabbed my uniform off the curtain rail and put it on. It was a dark blue gown that stopped above my knee, with black long socks to march. It had a white cotton lacy apron material tied over the waist which I wore, paired with flats. I removed the towel which I tied over my head and brushed my hands through the fringy curls in an attempt to straighten it.

She darted out of the room, and a moment later returned, hands tucked behind her back. “Since you're cooking in the kitchen, and it can get a little greasy, you should wear this—just so you don’t mess up your clothes.” She revealed a pink apron adorned with a big heart. Stephen’s mouth twitched. “That’s not necessary—” “It is, it is! Here, let me help you.” She didn’t give him the chance to say no, quickly rising on tiptoe and slipping the apron over his head. Before he could dodge away, her arms wrapped around him from behind to tie the strings in a neat bow.

Then, he took them to the kitchen sink. “Do you have an apron?” He turned back to ask her. Zoey nodded. “Yes.” Laurence then commanded, “Bring it over to me.” Zoey took out the pink apron she didn’t use much from the drawer. Laurence didn’t mind the color. He lazily opened his arms and bent down slightly. “Help me put it on.” Zoey’s heart thumped against her ribcage fiercely again, almost bursting through her chest.

Was he offering to return the favor? “Wait, what did you ” While I’m still trying to wrench my mind from the mental image of Dayne with his face pressed between my legs, material hits me in the face, and I stop talking long enough to peel it away. The frills tell me what it is before I take a single look. It’s the apron. The dreaded frilly apron is back to torment me. “You can start with the bathroom. Wearing that.” I stare at the apron because it’s not safe for me meeting Dayne’s eyes.

There was no dishwasher or top cabinets, just rows of lovely shelves filled high with plates, bowls, glasses, and another assorted crockery. A lady stood at the sink, washing dishes. Her brown hair was tied back into a tight bun at the back of her head. She was dressed in an out-of-date gown. The hem was several inches below her knees and was a pale blue. She wore a white apron with ruffled borders and a tight tie around her waist over it. Her tight shoulders and set line of her jaw betrayed her disapproval and fury.

"We need s‍up‍pli‌es. Go to the dollar store⁠. Buy⁠ bleach. Lots of bleac​h. Scrubbing‍ brushe​s. An‌d pla‌stic‍ shee​ts." "P⁠la⁠st‍ic​ sheets? Are we killing so⁠meone?" "We are killing the germs,"‍ I said g‌r⁠imly. "If I am going to l​ive in th​is pit, I am g⁠oing to s​crub it unt‍il it⁠ bl⁠eeds." For the next si‍x hours, we wen​t to war​. I stri‍pped d‌own to my un​dershirt.⁠ I⁠ tied a‍ rag around‍ my face like a mask.

Hyun Ah ask, showing a thumbs up to the Captain. Blanche nodded as she sat down on the wooden chair near her. Hyun Ah grabs what she was holding and started to open up a pack of gauze and pour an antiseptic on the cotton balls. She then started cleaning Blanche's open wound. Flinching due to discomfort, Blanche couldn't help but to utter. "Ouch!"

I hate how my heart speeds up. “Fine,” I say, trying to sound bossy. “You start at the register. Just hit the big buttons. Don’t steal the tips.” He palms the register, giving it a once-over as if he's about to hack into NORAD. “Easy enough.” “Then work that, and catch up the orders.” I slide him an apron. It’s pink and has a cartoon muffin stitched in the middle. He puts it on without comment, tying it over his black workout shirt and too-big muscles. The sight does something to me that I don’t want to unpack.