Chapter 12 #2
“I meant genetics. Like, your children will be lucky if they have hair like yours. Mine is thin, boring, and refuses to grow past my shoulders without turning into straw. Though it used to be long.” She shrugs.
I glance at her hair, imagining it would be soft between my fingers despite what she said.
“Okay, Beast. You, your genes, and your #BruiserButt, over to the sink.”
“I walked into that one, huh?” I ask.
A playful smile appears on Everly’s lips. “Walk? No, I need you to sit.” She gestures that I park myself on the chair, lean back, and rest my neck on the cushion.
“I take it you haven’t been to the barber in a while.”
I grunt as she adjusts the water temperature and then dampens my hair.
She suds the shampoo and then hesitates, as if considering asking if it’s okay to pet a stranger’s dog.
Then her hands plunge into my scalp, where she rubs circles with just the right length nails and the soft pads of her fingers.
In gentle strokes, Everly massages my head and my eyes drift closed.
My skin tingles all over. As seconds pass, something vibrates inside. Warmth spreads through me. I can’t let myself get comfortable and pop my eyes open.
Viewing Everly upside down, I glimpse details: the little dimple in her chin, the brush of her long eyelashes on her cheeks, and the delicate set of her lips.
Belle. She’s even pretty from this angle.
I slam my eyes shut, but that forces me to tune into my other senses. Beyond the scent of shampoo, I smell sweet sunshine. I hear the gentle intake of her breath. And her touch is like angel’s wings, puppy fur, like falling through clouds.
Her fingers rub the nape of my neck, the area near my temples, and cradle my head. For half a second, I feel relieved of a burden. I exhale, sinking deeper into the chair, into her capable hands, and into the notion that something about Everly both calms and excites me.
What if our marriage had been real?
As soon as the idea creeps into my mind, Everly’s voice breaks the silence and I slam the door on that idea. “I’m not sure what Shonda’s spiel is, but considering this is the makeover portion of the program, I’ll assume she reviews hygiene.”
She talks to me about the topic for the next few minutes before toweling off my head. We return to the chair in front of the mirror and she runs a comb through my hair. It’s longer than hers, reaching past my shoulders.
“It’s a shame,” she mutters.
Before I can ask what she means, the rhythmic snip of the scissors slices through the silence.
Long blond pieces drop to the floor in a crescent shape.
I track Everly’s scent again and think about how easily sweet sunshine can break through clouds.
Warmth radiates from her skin and her smile is like standing in a patch of sunlight on a cold day.
She adjusts the chair with a lever at the base so my head is level with hers—not difficult since I’m tall and she’s relatively small.
As she circles me for the front portion of the haircut, we’re almost eye to eye.
She stands to the side of my long legs, arching at an awkward angle before shuffling to the other side.
She squishes up her face, trying to find a good position before standing squarely in front of me, tucking between my knees as she snips a few more times.
My mouth goes dry, but the coffee is out of reach and probably cold by now. Something stirs in me. Maybe she was right. I’m not a morning person. At least not anymore. I’m an Everly person.
No, no, no. I did not think that. No way.
Both of Everly’s hands grip my jawline and then brush through my beard. The pad of her thumb grazes the scar on my lip.
“My old hair stylist would keep up a running commentary, asking me about my life, job, boyfriends.”
“Plural?” I interrupt.
She pushes up one shoulder and holds back a smirk.
“My father was unflappable. Kind of like you. I did everything in my power to flap him. Brought home guys with motorcycles, tattoos, and one who told me he loved me on our first date. I had a feeling he was going to propose and he did, right in front of the Ice King.”
“You call your father the Ice King?”
“Former hockey Hall of Famer turned brutal businessman.”
“Should I be worried?” I ask, considering I did technically marry this man’s daughter.
“You? Worried? No. As I said, you’re unflappable. Put the two of you together in a room, you’d have a stare-off showdown for eternity. Neither one of you would crack. It would be televised and everything. People would place bets. I’d probably walk away a zillionaire.”
“You’ve really thought about this, huh?”
The corner of her lip flirts with a smile. “Not until right now.”
And now I’m thinking about her mouth. On mine.
The wedding kiss. Haven’t kissed or been kissed since.
Coach’s rules and the playbook didn’t apply to me so much as the rest of the guys.
Perhaps until now. My stomach flickers and then clenches as though arguing over Marriage of Convenience Club rules and personal space.
“Let’s not talk about my sordid past of questionable decisions.” Wearing a teasing smirk, Everly tugs on my beard. “Are you inviting birds to nest or are you frugal and save food scraps?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Flavor saver, Rip Van Winkle, whatever.” Bran had a beard and without realizing it, I started growing mine after he died.
As she runs her hands through it, I grip her wrist firmly, not because I don’t want her touching me, but because I need to stabilize myself at the unfamiliar flare inside.
She jerks back. “Don’t bite.”
“I’m not going to—” I cut myself off when I see the fear in her eyes. “Everly, I’d never hurt you.” My throat goes from dry to scratchy.
She steps back slightly, as if not entirely sure.
My eyes meet hers, trying to convey what I can’t with words.
“Can you just trim it? Clean it up?” I’m not ready for another big change.
She nods but still doesn’t move closer.
I take her hand more gently this time, causing my skin, my muscles, and my bones to crackle with energy. “Be careful.”
Her long, dark lashes brush the skin under her eyes as she blinks a few times, as though she’s waiting for me to fully confirm that it’s okay.
I give her a slight nod.
Everly rolls her shoulders back, and she puts on a brave face as she moves in close, planting herself between my legs as she trims my beard.
I keep my gaze glued to her, praying that she doesn’t waver...praying that she won’t leave when she sees me. I don’t recognize myself anymore and I’m not sure the makeover will do me any favors.
The thing is, I’m a shell of who I used to be. Can’t remember the last time I smiled or laughed. That changes a person, inside and out.
Plus, there’s the scar.
Even though I hardly recognize myself, I do recognize Everly. She’s the woman whose eyes I held as we stood hand in hand, in the courthouse. Whose plump lips had spoken two fateful words, I do. Who I didn’t forget but never expected to see again.
She pauses briefly as she carefully clips the hair around my lips, presumably seeing the scar.
Her eyes flash to mine in question, but I don’t offer an explanation. With the beard, it’s easier to hide: my appearance, my past, and the emptiness.
But when her breath moves softly against my skin, her fingers touch my hair, and her thigh presses against mine, the stirring that turned into a flare drives down deep into an uncharted place inside me.
It travels among the stone and cold, the wasteland of my inner terrain as if looking for a rest stop, an ice cream parlor, somewhere to park and stretch.
“Whew. We are done. We made it,” Everly says as if she too experienced the soul journey of the last hour.
She spins me around in the chair so I can see the results of the makeover. “Ta da!” She wiggles her fingers while waving her hands excitedly.
At the sight of myself in the mirror, resembling my brother so completely, the guilt inside builds like pressure beneath the earth. My muscles and tendons tighten, blood rushes through my veins, and the grunts that ordinarily come from my throat turn into a growl.