14. Lenora
14
LENORA
M y fixation begins with Sophie’s offhand comment over lunch on Thursday: “I’m leaving early to get my hair cut for the party.”
It was an innocent thing to share with your coworker and friend, especially one who will be attending the same event as you. She definitely didn’t mean anything by it, or intend to trigger this, but trigger she did.
On my way back to my desk, I stopped in the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
I’ve had long hair my entire life. It was practical, a necessity for creating a perfect ballerina bun, and I never put a lot of thought into it. Why? While my sister was cutting and dyeing and curling and straightening her hair, I got a trim every few months and was done with it. Now, fresh off a stretch of being broke and depressed, it hangs nearly halfway down my back when it isn’t pulled up.
I’m not a professional dancer anymore, though. Ergo, I don’t need to have long hair, and instead of this realization depressing me, the prospect of making a change is downright exciting.
My leg is feeling better than ever, and I’ve been mostly ignoring my physical therapist’s constant reminders to take it slow, all too happy to abandon my sparkly cane in the closet of the apartment. Then, there’s my relationship with Holden. We still haven’t had the talk yet, but there seems to be a new understanding between us that certainly wasn’t present at the start.
It’s happening. I’m falling headfirst into this, no safety net, no holding back, and I’m not scared. I’ve never had my heart broken before, and maybe if I had, I would be trying to run for it. After all, on paper, this is such a bad idea. In reality, though, I’ve never felt safer in my life.
Honor and Julian’s engagement party is this weekend, and there are probably going to be a million pictures taken. Whenever I see them, I want to see this new version of me—happy and falling in love—not clinging to a past that is dead and gone.
When I get back to my desk, Holden is pacing back and forth in front of his, clearly done with the conference call he’s on. He shoots me a sly, secretive smile that has warmth spreading through my middle as I flop back down in my rolling chair, eager to begin my research.
By the end of the day, I’m confident I know what I want, and I’ve bookmarked a list of half a dozen hair salons within a five-mile radius, all of which have excellent reviews and prices I can stomach. As I’m preparing to leave for the day—or, rather, walk around the corner and wait for my not quite but also kinda boyfriend to pick me up—my phone buzzes on my desk.
Holden: This is taking forever, I’m sorry. You should just go home.
I glance over my shoulder at the man who just texted me. He’s slumped in his office chair, listening to two of the higher-up architects on Team E, who appear to be having a disagreement of some sort, judging by the gesticulating. Fighting a smile, I turn back to my phone.
No problem, I have some calls to make. Do you want to come over when you’re done? I’ll order us dinner?
Holden: Sounds perfect.
Holden:
Holden: Shit, I’ve never sent one of those before. I think I did it wrong.
You definitely didn’t.
* * *
Unfortunately, my grand plan to remake myself quickly hits a fairly significant roadblock.
After making a few calls to the preferred hairdressers I’d selected and being told they had nothing available for the next decade or so, it became clear I might be out of luck. Still, running on relentless determination—even if it’s bad for me—is something of a specialty of mine, and I wasn’t going to give up that easily.
Holden arrives just as I’m listening to the phone ring for the very last hairdresser I found in our town, one with a grand total of two reviews that appears to be located in some lady’s garage.
“Hi!” I say brightly when somebody finally answers with a grumbled, “ What ?”
“Do you happen to have any availability for a walk-in today or tomorrow? Nothing fancy! I swear, I will be the easiest client ever and will tip you one hundred percent!”
This plea falls on deaf ears. After a pause, the grumbler replies, “I can fit you in on Tuesday.”
My shoulders slump. “Nothing sooner? My sister’s engagement party is?—”
“Tuesday is the best I can do.”
I hang up with a low curse, turning to smile apologetically at Holden as he hangs his laptop bag off the back of a kitchen chair. “Sorry.”
“What service are you desperate enough to tip one hundred percent for?” he asks, grinning.
“A haircut.” I finger the ends of my dark waves, grimacing. “I always had to have it long to fit in a bun, and today it occurred to me I don’t have to do that anymore. It’s stupid. I’ll just put it up.”
Strolling forward, Holden reaches out a hand to join mine, looking appraisingly at my hair. “Why is this so important for you to do today?”
I shrug, feeling a little embarrassed now that I have to explain the impulse. “There will probably be a million pictures, and I guess I wanted to be new Leni instead of trying to be the old Leni for them.”
As if he understands this perfectly, Holden nods, lowering his lips to meet mine in a brief, chaste kiss. “ New Leni and trying to be the old Leni are both beautiful.”
Butterflies erupt in my belly as I gaze at him, struggling to remain calm and not just melt into a pile of goo on the floor. For someone as inexperienced in relationships as I am, this guy seems to be making it his personal mission to make me fall as hard and fast as possible.
I swallow, my heart lifting as a different possibility comes to mind. “Can you do it for me?”
Holden looks startled. “Do what? Cut your hair? ”
I nod. “It doesn’t need to be perfect or anything. Just, you know, not this.” My feeble laugh doesn’t quite come off as genuine.
For a moment, he just looks at me. “Okay,” he agrees at last, obviously cautious. “I can try. No guarantees.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You didn’t get your cosmetology license in architecture school?”
“Shockingly, no.” He lowers his lips to mine again, kissing me sweetly.
Feeling strangely fluttery and off balance, I draw back, walking to the kitchen drawer to retrieve the scissors as Holden pulls a stool out from the little island to the center of the room. I manage to find a spray bottle of Honor’s and a comb that must belong to Sophie. Neither of us says a word as we get everything in place, until it’s all done, and there’s nothing left but to do it.
Something hot and restless shifts beneath my skin as Holden draws toward me, a nervous smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “You’re sure about this? I don’t want to fuck up your hair, princess.” He’s teasing me, but I can sense a genuine, underlying anxiety.
Reaching out, I weave my fingers through his and squeeze. “I’m sure,” I promise. “It’ll turn out better than if I did it myself, which was my next plan.”
Something is happening here that has absolutely nothing to do with my hair. I can feel it hanging over our heads, growing heavier and heavier by the second.
I can barely breathe as I climb onto the stool, and Holden picks up the spray bottle in one hand and the comb in another. He moves in a circle around me, frowning in concentration as he works it through my hair. The only sound in the kitchen is my breathing and the periodic hiss of water from the bottle.
There is no reason this moment should feel so… intense. We’ve had a crazy amount of sex at this point, the man has probably seen every inch of my body, ten times over. Yet sitting here, fully dressed, as the same man combs my hair in careful, measured strokes, I’m all but flayed open.
“How short do you want me to cut it?” Holden asks, pausing in front of me.
I swallow, lifting my hand to show him a point just above my shoulder, and while a flicker of uncertainty shows in his handsome features, Holden doesn’t question me.
As he lifts the scissors, I let my eyes fall shut.
Snip.
My heart lurches. “Thank you for doing this,” I whisper, feeling the gentle pull of his fingers in my hair. Holden doesn’t reply at first.
Snip.
“Are you bringing a date? To Honor’s thing?”
My eyes snap open in surprise. At this angle, I can’t see his face, but my heart is in my throat as the question sinks in.
“No,” I admit, willing my voice not to waver. “Would you mind? If I did?”
Snip.
Holden moves out of sight, and while I keep my eyes on the microwave, I can see long chunks of dark hair that have fallen to the kitchen floor. “Yes.” His voice is calm but grave. “I would mind.”
Snip.
Every breath seems to come with so much more effort than usual. I’m just sitting here, not moving, and yet my heart is suddenly thundering in my chest. This is the conversation I’ve been afraid to broach, still so shaken by the feelings this man has pulled out of nowhere and into vivid, inescapable existence.
“What about you?” I question him gently, “You’re not one to go to these things alone.”
Snip. Snip.
In the corner of my vision, I can see half of Holden’s face now. His eyes are narrowed, focused on the task at hand, and yet I’ve never seen him look so grave. “You’re the only one I want to go to these things with.”
It feels like my heart is going to break free from my chest and go skittering off across the floor to hand itself over to him. Holy hell. Oh god. We’re really talking about this.
Holden Ellinger, notorious bachelor and my father’s business partner, is standing in my kitchen, cutting my hair and telling me he doesn’t want me going on dates with anyone other than him, and that he doesn’t want to go on dates with anyone other than me.
Snip.
Holden moves in front of me now, and sitting on the stool, our eyes are at the same level. He stares at me, serious and unsmiling, and I stare back. A thousand problems hang in the air between us, and god , it’s never been so clear that I don’t care . This is worth it. We are worth it.
The hand holding the scissors falls to his side. “Len,” Holden murmurs, his voice a low, raspy plea. “Put me out of my misery, here. Tell me I’m not alone in this.”
I laugh because I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. “You’re not alone in this. Not even a little bit.”
Something flickers to life behind Holden’s bright eyes, a fire that’s different than the usual life I see there. Slowly, with obvious difficulty, he lifts the scissors again, returning his focus to my hair.
Snip.
“It wasn’t supposed to go this way,” I recall with a feeble, watery little laugh.
His answering smile is soft. “Yes, it was.”
“No!” I scoff, struggling to hold still as he returns to my hair. “Are you kidding? I doubt you went into this thinking there would be… you know. Feelings.”
“‘ You know? Feelings?’ ” he echoes with a chuckle. Snip. “And people call me emotionally stunted.”
“Cut me some slack. I’ve never done this before.”
Holden moves out of sight again, and his fingers appear on either side of my head, moving it back to center. “Neither have I, Len. You’ve had me on the hook since New Year’s, though.”
My heart stalls. “I have?”
“Yes.” Snip. “For months I kept acting as if everything was normal, kept expecting it to go away, but then you started at E&V and…” He lets out a low, rumbling laugh. “The rest is history.”
The rest is history. I’ve heard that phrase used by married couples, telling the story of how they met. My father has used them as he recounted how he fell for Sophie. Honor has said it about Julian. They’re the kind of words that would have made me panic even a month ago, but now, they make me feel full.
“What now?” I ask, barely able to recognize my own voice. “Do you want to be together? Like, a real couple?”
Holden’s expression is thoughtful as he moves back into view, his eyes zooming between both sides of the hair framing my face, ensuring it’s even. When he’s satisfied, they lift to meet mine. “Yes.”
Yes.
I swallow. “My dad is going to shit a brick.”
A low rumble comes from Holden’s chest as he sets the scissors on the counter. “He will. I’m expecting an emergency room visit. Possibly two. That being said, Bram wants you to be happy.” His hands slip between my thighs and part them gently, moving to stand in the space in between as his hands lift to cradle my face. “And I intend to make you very, very happy, princess.”
Apparently sensing I’m beyond words, Holden closes the distance between us, kissing me. It feels like a wave is washing over me, crushing me under the weight of all the feelings for this man I’ve been doing my best not to face head-on. I can’t do that anymore, though. He’s… he’s Holden. He gets me in a way I don’t think—no, in a way I know nobody ever has before, and, what’s more, is that I get him.
I see him.
“Holden,” I whisper when we break apart, panting, my hands fisting his shirt. “I’m really, really happy.”
He draws his thumb over my cheek, his expression unguarded and adoring. “Me too, Len.”
With a joyful little laugh, I lean forward, kissing him again as my eyes burn with tears that are—for the first time in months—not from sorrow. I’m not filled with anger or regret anymore. I’m not yearning for a future that will never be, I’m excited for one that’s unfolding right in front of me.
I feel his cock hardening, but as I begin to rock against him, eager, Holden pulls back again. “Don’t you want to see it?”
Oh, right. My hair.
Laughing, I allow him to help me to my feet, and we walk hand in hand to the bathroom. He hits the lights, and I falter, staring at myself in the mirror. The woman standing there looks like a stranger. Her dark hair hangs in damp waves around her face, which is flushed with life, her eyes sparkling. She looks so happy.
Holden meets my gaze in the mirror. “What do you think?”
I nod, my chest so full it feels like it could burst. “I love it. Thank you for doing that for me.”
In the reflection, I watch as Holden reaches out, guiding my face to look at him directly. He leans forward, brushing his lips over mine as he tells me, his voice a low, rough promise. “I would do anything for you.”