Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Everything was going well.
Too well.
Which only made Madison suspicious.
While she’d worried about Kyle’s family’s possible visit, he’d taken care of that with his usual take-charge attitude she loved. Hearing that he’d told his mother he was involved with someone had made her want to wrap her arms around him tightly and go on an ice cream marathon.
Now she held in her hand the first report from the Michelin consultant she’d insisted Kyle hire. More good news: no dips had occurred in the cooking and the excellence of service and every other Michelin item on the critic’s checklist was top notch.
Another huge win.
Was this the result of her recipe card exercise? Was Madison’s Spicy New Reality actually happening?
Yeah, it seemed to be, and yet more proof arrived that Saturday afternoon.
If someone had told her that a haircut would change her life, she’d have fallen off a chair laughing with Pierre cackling beside her.
Except after only ten minutes—ten minutes—she had perfect hair.
Her.
Madison Garcia.
Who usually cut her own.
Who barely made it once a year to the mall for a quick fix-it trim.
Voila. Brooke’s hair maestro had done the impossible.
Her staff eyed her as if she’d started growing carrots out of her head or something after the quiet Japanese man packed up his very sharp scissors—a brand she planned to look into later in case they had culinary shears—and left.
But business needed to get taken care of, haircut or not, so she stuffed a chef’s hat on her head and got back to work. They had Saturday night ahead of them and were booked solid like usual.
Going home to Kyle that night, she almost dragged her tired feet as she carried Pierre home with her. For some reason, she didn’t want Kyle to see her hair. She didn’t want to see the look on his face…
She tried to distract herself by thinking about the puppies coming on Monday, except those drooling faces couldn’t wipe out the unease in her belly.
The Romance Shrine was lit when she arrived home and she headed to Kyle’s office to drop off Pierre for the night.
Then she ducked into the nearby bathroom and studied herself in the mirror.
The last time she’d given herself such a serious perusal had been on New Year’s Eve, right after she’d kissed Kyle.
That night, she’d caught a glimpse of the young girl she’d been.
Today she was looking at a new woman, one she didn’t recognize. At all. Who looked chic.
The usual tufts of hair sticking up on her head were gone. Instead, her hair fell in short curls around her head.
She scrubbed her hands through her hair to make it messy, but hand to God, the perfect symmetry fell back in place like those little tumblers in Kyle’s Swiss watch, the one he always took off before they went to bed.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Sticking her head under the sink to soak her hair seemed extreme. If she did that, wouldn’t he wonder if stress was finally getting to her? Better to charge out and act as if nothing was different.
When she stalked into the kitchen, she watched his face blanch—the way a tomato did when you plunged it into boiling water to loosen the skin.
Then he bit his lip, like he was trying to hide his reaction.
Like she couldn’t already read his thoughts.
He was amused, knowing she was uncomfortable.
He probably thought it looked great. Except he only kissed her sweetly and then did his version of how was your day? , which was kind of cool.
She watched him for any telltale signs that he was secretly stewing about his whole parent breakup situation, because that’s how it sounded to her—
They sucked. He dumped them. You move on.
Only, he was watching her with equal intensity, and she knew why.
The hair.
Later she jumped into the shower and distracted him—quite capably—delighting in her hair getting a little wet. Tomorrow morning, her usual bed head and tufts would be back.
After kissing him awake and having some fun time in bed, she charged into the bathroom, excited to see her old friend: bad hair.
But she froze in front of the mirror and gaped. There it was. Her perfect hair. As much a work of art as it had been yesterday.
Okay, she was now officially in an alternate universe.
No amount of mussing it returned it to its normal disarray, and by the time breakfast rolled around, she was feeling jangly about it, like she’d had too much caffeine.
She wanted to text Brooke a photo and ask Is this normal?
, but her friend would die laughing. Oh, wait!
She and the rest of their friends were going to see it later at family dinner.
Maybe she could start coughing or something, weasel out of it.
Then she wanted to threaten herself with her own cleaver because she was acting like a chicken again and she was done with that.
She contemplated her situation as she tore apart a croissant. Madison Garcia did not have perfect hair. It completely ruined the image she had of herself, the one she projected to the world. A badass did not have Parisian chic hair.
Kyle reached for her hand, prompting her to hold out her croissant. “You want a piece?”
“No, I thought you might share what’s on your mind,” he only said easily, too easily.
She shook her head with her nose scrunching up. “Nope. You?”
He kissed her hand, a gesture that always made her eyes widen. “You still seem a little uptight. I clearly didn’t do a good enough job in the shower.”
Her snort was immediate. “If you had done better, the neighbors might have called the police.”
“Then what’s bothering you?” he pressed, folding his hands in his lap. “And don’t tell me something isn’t when I know it is.”
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “It’s mortifying.”
“We’ve had embarrassing conversations before and made it through.”
She nearly knocked over the vase of flowers on the table when she gestured between them. “I’m not talking about you and me.”
He slid his chair out and patted his lap. “Come over here and tell me all about it.”
She didn’t budge. Lifting an eyebrow, she said, “Are you living your version of Santa Claus? Is this a missed fantasy for you? We can get you a suit.”
“Madison.”
“Fine!” She touched the ends of her hair.
“It’s my hair! And don’t tell me your jaw didn’t drop open like a seagull when I didn’t wake up looking like the bride of Frankenstein this morning.
My hair was almost as perfect as yours! We have family dinner today, and I just know people are going to notice and say something. ”
He was clearly biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“One, Frankenstein is the last person I think of when I wake up with you. Two, yes, I noticed, but since your appearance was on the rules list, I didn’t say anything before.
The cut looks great, but I’m more interested in how it came about. ”
“Brooke talked me into it.” She nearly spat the words out. “That sounds like I blame her, but she delivered on her end. She found someone who could do it while I worked.”
“Never underestimate Brooke.”
“I’d forgotten apparently,” she grimaced, tearing at the pastry.
“But the whole appointment blew my mind when he came yesterday. The guy didn’t dunk my head under a sink and give me some freaky scalp massage like he was playing the itsy bitsy spider on my head.
He cut it using some Japanese dry-cutting technique, and in like ten minutes. Then he cleaned up and left.”
Fighting laughter, he reached for his orange juice. “Efficient.”
“And perfect! I mean, if I didn’t know my hair was attached to my head, I’d swear I was wearing some fancy wig like you see in South Beach.”
“Oh, Madison, I love you.”
Suddenly, she was lunging out of her chair and falling into his lap. “Put your hands in my hair.”
Since he’d almost bobbled his orange juice, he carefully set it on the table before threading his hands against her scalp.
“Now, ruffle it up like you did last night.”
She could feel his laughter bubbling up, but he did as she asked. When he lowered his hands, she jumped back up and pointed to her skull.
“See! I’ll bet it fell right back into place. It’s incredible. I mean, the guy should have a gold medal in the Hair Olympics. My staff stared at me, although they tried not to. Pierre told me I looked pretty, which I do not. I don’t know who this woman is in the mirror.”
He took her hand. “Maybe you’re seeing a side you haven’t seen before. You are pretty, although I’d go further and say you’re beautiful and sexy as hell.”
No, that was too much to take in. She wagged her finger at him. “Take that back, Kyle.”
He stood up, his blue eyes simmering now. “What if I don’t want to? What if I stand here and tell you that you’re the most beautiful, sexiest woman in the world?”
She crossed her arms. “I’d take your temperature and call an ambulance.”
“Do you find me attractive?”
Sputtering, she laughed. “Attractive? The day you were created was like the day chocolate was created.”
“Your food allusions never fail to amuse me. That good, huh? Well, that’s how I feel about you, only I’d say you were created the same day ice cream was created.”
Her throat did feel like she had a cold coming on, but she knew it wasn’t a virus. It was all these stupid feelings she was experiencing over something equally stupid. Hair.
“Why does the haircut bother you?” he pressed.
She stalked off toward the fridge, taking out eggs and setting them on the counter, needing something to do with her hands for this discussion. “Because I’m not a perfect haircut kind of girl.”
He took a seat across from her at the kitchen island as she grabbed a bowl. “Why?”
“Do I look like those women in Miami who love sashaying into a salon? No way. I’m a tough girl from Liberty City. Besides, you pay a fortune for something that only causes trouble. I got used to looking a certain way. This cut makes me look chic, and I’m not chic.”