8 #2
“Next, you need to start adding hair to the braid,” I say to Pepper who is braiding my hair.
I’m sitting on the rug in the front room and Pepper’s on the ottoman.
Half of my hair is twisted up in a clip and the other half Pepper is holding.
After several failed attempts teaching her how to braid her own hair, we decided it would be easier if she first learned how to braid my hair.
“Okay, now what?” she asks.
“The same thing you did before. Move the bottom strand to the middle. And then the top to the middle. Got it?”
“Yeah, maybe, I think so.”
“Hello? What’s this?” Edward asks as he and Elinor walk into the house.
“I’m teaching Pepper to braid.”
“So you’re putting me out of a job,” Brandon says, following them into the front room.
“No, just giving her options for when you’re busy.”
I feel a shift in the air behind me.
“Here, scoot, Pepper. It’s like this.” Brandon’s low voice is near my ear.
And then his hands take hold of my hair.
At his touch, my whole body registers his presence.
It’s a struggle to breathe evenly—to act like it’s no big deal that his hands are in my hair.
There should be nothing romantic about braiding, but it’s an entirely different experience with Brandon holding my hair.
“Do you see that?” he asks Pepper.
“I think so.”
“It’s easier to braid curlier hair. It’s not as slippery as your hair,” he says to Pepper, “but it does make it harder to see what I’m doing.”
“I know my hair is a mess,” I say, pretending to be offended.
“Hush, you know we love your hair,” Brandon says with a little scold. Truthfully, I’m relishing every moment. It’s been a while since anyone else has braided my hair, and Brandon’s really good at it. Each assured move is firm but gentle.
“Wow!” Edward says, watching Brandon’s big hands deftly braid the strands together. “You’re really good at this.”
“I was taught by the best,” he says as he secures the braid with an elastic.
“Okay, Pepper, now you try on this side.” He removes the clip from the other half of my hair and combs his fingers through.
Once again, I can barely breathe. Which makes no sense because it’s just Brandon, and he’s only braiding my hair.
This is all super platonic. So . . . so .
. . platonic. I think about how Brandon looked when he answered his door last night. I need a distraction.
“Elinor,” I say. “I need you to settle a debate between Brandon and me. What flavor do you think humble pie is?”
“Hey, I have thought about this! Super tart cranberries,” Edward volunteers.
“Hah! I was right!” says Brandon. “Cranberries are sweet.”
“No, that proves me right. Cranberries are bitter.”
“I’ve always thought of it as a lemon meringue pie where the cook mixed up the sugar for salt,” says Elinor. “And the meringue is weeping.”
“Another point for me,” I say.
“How’s that?” Pepper asks as she finishes up my second braid.
“Good, but a little loose,” Brandon says inspecting it. “Do you want to try again?”
“Nah . . . this was a good start.” Pepper gets up from the ottoman. “I want another piece of those berry bars.”
“Sign me up,” says Edward. “I could definitely go for a snack.” He and Elinor follow Pepper to the kitchen. “So, are the berry bars the aforementioned ‘apology bars’?” Brandon asks as he takes out Pepper’s braid.
“Yes. I was rude, and I’m sorry.” It’s weird apologizing to someone sitting behind me. But also, a little easier. “I said some unkind and untrue things last night. You’re a really good father—and friend.”
“Thank you,” Brandon says solemnly. I’m kind of glad I can’t see his face right now.
“I’m also sorry,” he says. “What I said to you was unfair and untrue. While you are lots of fun—and can be very silly in the best way, you are serious about the things that matter.” I exhale.
I had been so worried about my own cruel words that I forgot what he said to me.
But it did hurt to hear him be so dismissive of my entire personality, and it’s good to know that Brandon sees my serious side.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Okay, well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to tighten up the braid Pepper did.”
“Please do.” Again, Brandon runs his fingers through my hair. It takes a great deal of effort to not let out a happy sigh.
“I should also apologize for blaming you,” he says as he expertly braids.
“No, you were right. I . . .”
“Hello? No one told me we’re having a slumber party.
” Jack strolls into the house like he owns the place.
Usually I love that he is so comfortable in our home, but at this moment his presence truly kills the vibe.
Jack sits down on the floor opposite me and leans over to kiss me on the mouth.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” I can feel Brandon stiffen behind me.
“So after braiding hair, are we going to paint nails?” he asks with a gentle tease.
Brandon continues braiding. I feel like Jack deserves some explanation for another man playing with my hair. “I was teaching Pepper how to braid. She was practicing on my hair, and now Brandon’s fixing it.”
“Looks like you’re a pro,” Jack says as Brandon twists an elastic on the end of my braid.
“Thank you.” Brandon stands up. “Where are those berry bars you were bragging about?”
“In the kitchen,” I answer. “You can take the rest of the pan.” I try to infuse my tone with extra warmth in an effort to compensate for the recent PDA.
“Perfect,” he says, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’m really not in the mood to share.”