Love Rents A Room
Chapter 157: Domestic Moments

Chapter 157: Domestic Moments

The next morning, Jeffrey woke up early. He wanted to cook for her—and he also started the laundry. She had been doing it for both of them without complaint, and he figured it was time he pitched in too.

As he loaded the washing machine, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine he’d be here, doing laundry—not just his, but his girlfriend’s too. Back home, he hadn’t even known where the laundry room was. His dirty clothes would vanish from the hamper, and his closet would magically refill.

This life... it had its own charm.

He wasn’t a good cook—hell, he wasn’t even average—but he tried. How hard could it be to toast some bread and fry a couple of eggs?

Apparently, quite hard. Especially with the ancient equipment she owned. He stared at her toaster like it was an artifact from a museum. After some Googling, he realized it was—the model looked like it was from the 1950s.

He sighed but didn’t give up.

After prepping the tray with his humble breakfast attempt, he tiptoed into her room. But his smile faltered when he saw her still asleep—deeply, motionlessly. It wasn’t like her. Joanne wasn’t one to laze around, even when she had the excuse to.

A knot tightened in his chest. Something didn’t feel right.

He placed the breakfast tray on her side table and gently brushed her hair back, whispering her name to wake her. She stirred with a sleepy smile, her expression softening when she saw him.

And the tray.

Her face lit up for a moment, but as she began to eat, he noticed it—the subtle flicker of disappointment she tried to hide.

Yeah. He wasn’t even an average cook. And she—well, she was picky when it came to food. He’d noticed it before. Despite being kind, selfless, and easygoing, she had one flaw: when it came to food, she was a bit of a narcissist.

Still, she was graceful. She didn’t complain. She ate every bite.

He sat beside her, talking about his office plans for the day. They discussed everything—giving suggestions, bouncing ideas off each other. It was uncanny how their thoughts flowed in sync, neither needing to bend or compromise. Once again, he saw it—how much she trusted him.

"We’re going to the hospital today," he said at the end of their talk, tone casual but firm. "Just to check on your stitches."

It was mostly information, but he knew she’d need more than that to comply.

Joanne immediately pouted. "I wanted to go check on Jeffrey and Mr. Darcy. Even my dogs are probably missing me..."

Jeffrey sighed. "Do whatever you want. I’ll call in the appointment. Just be ready when I say."

He got up and left to get dressed.

Behind him, Joanne called out, "What are you, my husband? You can’t order me around like that!"

He paused at the door, poked his head back in with a raised brow. "Did you say something?"

Joanne grinned from ear to ear. "Nope. Nothing."

"Be ready!" he said, pointing at her in mock sternness before disappearing again.

Joanne flopped back on the bed with an exaggerated sigh. But the smile lingered on her lips.

She hated just sitting around, doing nothing.

Eventually, she wandered downstairs. Avoided the mirror like the plague. The thought of her bandages being removed and revealing a bald spot made her stomach twist.

Ugh. I look ugly.

Downstairs, the laundry was already done. Magically. Well... not magically. She knew exactly who the little house-elf was. Her lips curved as she opened the dryer and began pulling out the clothes.

That smile vanished in an instant.

He had thrown everything in together. Whites, colors, delicates—all of it. Her beautiful white blouse was now a soft, tragic pink. And her expensive bras? Stretched. Warped. Doomed.

She heard him coming down the stairs and turned to glare, eyes narrowed like a predator spotting its prey.

"You threw all the clothes together into the washer?" she asked, voice low and loaded.

Jeffrey froze.

"And don’t you wash your delicates by hand?" she added, holding up one of her sadly mutilated bras like it was evidence in a trial.

Jeffrey raised a brow at the confrontational tone. "Thanks for the gratitude," he said dryly. "Also... did you wash my underwear by hand?"

She had, of course.

"Don’t we all?" Joanne replied, but then sighed. He was trying. He hadn’t done it out of malice or laziness—just love... and a little ignorance.

"Towels should be washed separately. Whites go in their own load. Delicates should be hand washed and never dried in the dryer. It’s on the label!" she said, a bit exasperated. "You’ve never read the tags on your clothes?"

Jeffrey blinked. "There are instructions for that?"

For years, he’d been washing everything together. No categories. No discrimination. Just pure chaos.

Joanne could only groan. "Cooking and laundry... I’ll handle it."

Jeffrey didn’t look pleased, but he bit his tongue. "Be ready. I’ll call you," he muttered before heading downstairs again—stomping just a bit, to show he didn’t appreciate the scolding.

But truthfully, he wasn’t angry. Not even close. He figured she was just guilting him to get out of a hospital visit. Joanne hated going to the doctor when it was about her.

She was one stubborn mule.

Joanne sighed again. She probably could have handled it better. It was just laundry. Just underwear. Easily replaceable. What mattered was why he did it.

She watched him from the stairs.

He stood there, hands in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing a suit—not after the one she gave him was ruined. He said he’d get a new one, but he hadn’t yet. Just a button-down shirt and jeans. Still... he looked effortlessly regal.

And those eyes—those deep, clear eyes that looked at her like she was everything. That private smile that only she ever got to see.

I’m the luckiest woman on this planet.

"Thank you, Jeffrey..." she said softly. "For everything. For doing the laundry, for caring about me and taking me to the doctor, for taking care of my company... and for loving me, even though I make it hard sometimes."

Jeffrey stepped closer, his gaze warm. He leaned in and gently kissed her lips.

"It’s not hard at all," he whispered. "It’s an honor."

He then stood there and looked at her from top to bottom.

"What?" Joanne asked, aware. His eyes were... different.

"What did you do? You’re looking more and more beautiful each day," he said, clearly surprised.

Joanne blushed. She patted her burning cheeks. It was not lip service. He meant every word.

Even though she looked ugly in her eyes, she looked pretty in his eyes. Wasn’t that wonderful?