Leah #2
Every few minutes, another dramatic gag echoes down the hallway. I stop to lean against the wall, quietly laughing at the sound. “You’re doing great!” I call out.
“Who are you talking to? Grady, me, or the lice?”
Grady has to catch his breath from laughing so hard, making me smile to myself before heading back to the laundry room.
By the time I return with fresh towels, the panic that greeted me at the front door has been eradicated—well, for the most part. Grady has been showered with medicated shampoo and now stands in his bathroom sink in a matching top and bottom set of pajamas with orange, blue, and green dinosaurs.
He stares at his reflection, a scowl on his face. “I don’t like my hair.”
Nick rests a hand on his shoulder. “I know, partner, but it will grow back. Now, let’s brush those teeth.”
Grady’s lower lip wobbles. “But it looks funny.”
“It’ll be okay,” Nick insists. “We’ll go to a barber who can—uh … hopefully, fix it.”
“When?”
Nick sighs. “This weekend. Now brush your teeth.”
“But that will take forever,” Grady whines.
Nick squats down. “Listen, Grady, there’s nothing we can do about it right now, okay? I can let you wear one of my hats tomorrow.”
“I don’t want your hat!” Grady shouts, tears spilling over as he pulls at butchered hair. “I want my hair back!”
“Now, Grady …” Nick raises his voice.
Grady throws himself onto the bathroom floor, crying and kicking. His tiny fists pound the tile as he rolls back and forth.
Nick lets out a heavy exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose before glancing back at me in the doorway. “I’m really bad at this, aren’t I?” he says softly.
I shake my head. “Do you happen to have some clippers? Like the electric kind with the different attachments?”
He scrunches up his face. “Maybe? I can look. Why?”
“When Matt played football in high school, the linemen had a tradition of keeping their hair pretty short during the season. Some even buzzed it all off completely. I got pretty decent at cleaning up fades.” I glance at Grady’s reflection.
“I can’t promise perfection, but maybe we can give it a little help. ”
Nick’s shoulders sag with relief. “I’ll be right back.”
As he disappears down the hallway, Grady twists toward me, eyes wide. “You’re gonna fix my hair?”
“I think I can help,” I say with a smile.
Nick returns with a toolkit containing an electric clipper, a handful of guard attachments, and a pair of scissors.
I spend the next several minutes trying to blend the worst of the bald patches into the longer pieces.
Trying is the keyword.
I lean back and sigh. “Well … it’s better.”
Nick tips his head, studying Grady from different angles. “That’s … a generous assessment.”
I chuckle humorlessly, combing my fingers through his short hair. “Yeah, buddy, I think we might be past saving your hair.”
“You can’t save it?” Grady’s face crumples again, his hands covering his head.
I set the clippers down on the counter before taking a knee. “Can I tell you a story?”
A single eye peeks between his fingers as he nods.
“I got really sick a few years ago, and the medicine that helped me get better made all my hair fall out.”
He sits up, his eyes wide. “All of it?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Were you sad?”
“I was very sad … but it grew back. See?” I model my pinned up hair. “It just takes a little patience.”
Grady studies himself in the mirror before looking back at me. “And it will grow back?”
I nod. “It will.”
He reaches up, rubbing the jagged patch above his ear. “You promise?”
Before I can say anything else, Nick reaches for the clippers. “Watch this, partner.” He snaps on a guard and without a second thought, runs the clippers straight through the front of his thick blond hair.
“Nick!” I blurt.
One pass of the clippers sends a thick swath of golden hair into the sink.
Grady’s mouth drops open before falling into a fit of surprised giggles. “Nick, that’s so silly! Why’d you do that?”
Nick smiles. “Because some things aren’t as scary when somebody does them with you.
I didn’t want you to be scared by yourself.
” He makes another pass through his hair, a cascade of strands floating down into a pile.
With a big grin on his face, he rubs the buzzed areas.
“Wanna feel it, partner?” He bends down, letting his son touch the peach fuzz.
“It tickles!” Grady giggles.
“Do you want to try?”
Grady eagerly nods, reaching for the clippers.
“Now listen—“ Nick holds the tool out of reach—”we do not cut our own hair ever again. Do you understand?”
Grady agrees.
Nick wraps Grady’s little hand around the clippers before covering it with his own. “You get the first swipe.”
Nick cleans up the last uneven patches, carefully shaving Grady’s stubborn cowlick before smoothing out the nape of his neck. Honestly, they both pull off the egghead. Something about their strong bone structure and perfectly round heads makes the buzz cuts oddly endearing.
As Nick starts Grady’s bedtime routine, I duck downstairs to swap out another load of laundry, returning to the kitchen with a basket of warm clothes.
As I fold a couple of Grady’s t-shirts, my eyes wander to the refrigerator.
And good grief ... Every spare inch of the chrome doors is hidden beneath Grady’s handiwork.
Last week’s sight-word list. A lopsided paper-plate turkey.
A family portrait that appears to include Nick, Grady, a cow, and—unless my eyes deceive me—a stegosaurus.
Next to the parade of artwork is a strip of pictures from the photo booth at the harvest festival. Nick and Grady make silly faces, posing with their tongues out, rabbit ears, and crossed eyes, all while wearing feather boas.
I chuckle under my breath as another photo in a protective case catches my eye, held to the refrigerator by a Longhorn magnet.
An elderly woman with striking moss-green eyes sits front and center in a wheelchair while three graying adults gather around her in Wranglers and ten-gallon hats.
Nick stands beside them, smiling for the camera, yet somehow he doesn’t quite fit with the rest of them.
I lean in a little closer, tracing the edge of the frame with my fingertip. The resemblance becomes impossible to miss—the same nose, the same dimples, even the same moss-green eyes. This has to be his family.
“That’s Magnolia Elise Poteet-Crawford.”
I startle, turning to find Nick leaning against the wall. “Four-time WPRA World Champion barrel racer,” he says with a proud grin. “She was kind of a big deal back in the day.”
I glance back at the photo. “She’s beautiful.”
“I know; that’s where I get my devastatingly good looks.”
I snort. “Who’s everyone else?”
He ambles over and points to each person. “That’s my brother, Danny, and those are my two sisters, Whitney and Stephanie.”
“Ohhh …” I nod. “I knew y’all had to be related. I just wasn’t expecting—“
“For me to have siblings old enough to be my parents?” He laughs. “Yeah, I get that a lot. My mom …” He tasks, shaking his head. “She thought she was in early menopause. She finally went to the doctor, and surprise! She was almost seven months pregnant with me.’
I gasp. “You’re kidding.”
“Proof is in the pudding.”
I snort, glancing up to his bald head. “I cannot take you seriously right now.”
He rubs a hand over his scalp. “Yeah, I didn’t think this one through.”
Smiling, I reach up almost absentmindedly and brush my palm over the fresh stubble. I let out a contented hum.
His eyebrows lift. “What’s the hrmmm for?”
“That halo keeps popping out, cowboy.”
He huffs a laugh. “Right.”
“I’m serious.” My hand drops to the swell of his arm. “What you did for Grady ... that was incredibly selfless.”
He shrugs. “It was an intrusive thought.”
“It was love.”
The silence that follows makes me acutely aware of the word I’d chosen.
Great. I’ve somehow made that word weird.
Nick studies me for a moment before clearing his throat. “So, I used your number.”
I laugh. “You did. I’ll admit, though, I wasn’t expecting our first conversation to revolve around lice.”
“No, probably not. I—“ He furrows his eyebrows, looking toward the stairs. “Wait … I think I hear Grady.” He steps closer to the hallway and tilts his head to listen. “Hold on a second. I’ll be right back.”
I nod, turning back to the photograph. Nick looks so much younger than everyone else that, at first glance, he could almost be mistaken for a nephew instead of a son. Matt and I are six years apart, and even that felt like a lifetime. I wonder if Nick ever felt like an outsider in his own family.
My phone buzzes against my back pocket, pulling me from the photo. I fish it out, my thumb already unlocking the screen.
COWBOY
A smile blooms across my face as I answer. “Is everything okay, Mr. Crawford?”
“Well, Ms. Harrison, not really.” His voice carries from somewhere in the house. “I was hoping you could help me.”
I smirk. “With what?”
“I need some advice. See, there’s this real pretty lady I can’t seem to stop thinking about. She was sweet enough to give me her phone number …” He sighs dramatically. “And then, wouldn’t you know it? My first text to her was about lice.”
I stifle a giggle.
“Did I blow it, or do you think she’ll give me a chance to take her out on a date?”
I tiptoe out of the kitchen and down the short hallway to find Nick peeking out from over the second floor banister. Shaking my head, I suck in my bottom lip. “Is she aware of your follicular accident? That could be a dealbreaker, but you could always ask.” I hang up the phone.
Nick saunters down the stairs, his crooked grin widening with each step, until he’s standing right in front of me. I tip my chin back, suddenly reminded of just how tall he is.
“Leah … will you have dinner with me?”
A smile tugs at my cheeks until they ache. Every clever response abandons me, leaving behind the only word I can possibly think of at this moment.
“Yes.”