Jane had taken to doing his laundry at Lisbon's house, which made them feel warm and domestic without either feeling rushed and had prompted Teresa's early suggestion that he should have a drawer or two, some space in her closet.
Jane was transferring clothes - a mixture of his and hers - from the washer when he saw her in the hallway outside the laundry room. He called out to her. "Sweetheart, do you have any more drier sheets?"
The first time he'd tried out a term of endearment ("Hey, gorgeous") he'd been all intention and sass and a bit of lust. But this time he hadn't even noticed what he said. And it was that lack of filter when usually he was so deliberate in all his communications that made her grin from ear to ear.
"What?" he questioned as she squeezed past him to check the cupboard. He couldn't understand her smile, and it made her smile that much wider. "What is it?" He was grinning now too.
"Nothing," she assured him. "Looks like we're out; I'll add it to the list." And then she was kissing him.
"Wow," he exclaimed when she finally pulled away. "If I'd known how happy it would make you when I did your laundry, I would have started a long time ago."
"If I said you make me happy all the time, would I have to start washing my own clothes again?"
He was ready with a joke about being allowed to "hand wash her delicates" which he would whisper into her ear, making it sound downright filthy. But her admission of happiness suddenly turned the moment tender for him when he let it sink in, and he held her instead.
(He saved the joke for another time. And it went over just the way he hoped it would.)
