As if on cue, Luke chose this moment to re-enter the scene.
The requested detergent swung from the loose grip of his left hand, the right shoved into the pocket of some very worn jeans. He was nodding along to a song on his headphones, the thrashing cymbals and bass line audible from ten feet away: something he'd been listening to all day, struck by a familiar feeling in the words.
"If you're a target, then I GUESS I'M ONE TOO," he half-sang as he crossed the room, seemingly oblivious to the showdown he'd inadvertently interrupted. "Hey April, think fast."
With that Luke feigned tossing the bottle violently at her chest, slipping it gently on top of the washer instead. In that same moment -- arguably too late -- he noticed the odd look on her face: something taken aback, shocked, as if something about his entrance had come as a nasty surprise.
Luke squinted at her, pulling the headphones off his ears; then he followed her line of sight over his own shoulder, meeting George's eyes with the same narrowed curiosity. When did you get here? Happy surprise. But she wasn't looking her happiest either -- in fact, if he didn't know better he'd swear she was about to cry or start throwing punches, but that would be ridiculous. Right?
Those little fists looked serious, though, no doubt about that. Luke knew serious when he saw it.
"Oh. Hey babe," he ventured, raising his eyebrows. There was a little connection forming in the back of his mind now as he watched her, but he wasn't sure what to do about it; all those handy lightning reflexes had never translated to the world of emotions and social cues.