I pat her gently on the back. “Everything’s okay.”
“I’m ugly,” Marianna says between sobs.
“Oh, honey, that’s not true,” I protest.
“A boy told me my hair was ugly and I cut it.”
I put my hand on her head, but before I can speak, Jonas says, “You’re still as pretty as you were when you got up this morning.”
“I’m dumb.”
“No, you’re adventurous and smart. And brave.”
My throat tightens at the gentle way he doesn’t let her put herself down.
“How about I take you to the salon and we get some sparkle added to your hair?” he says.
Marianna stops crying. “Like a fairy?”
“Exactly like a fairy,” Jonas says.
And…I’m melting. I cut my hair once as a kid and my mother was livid. I didn’t hear the end of what an embarrassment I was for weeks after that.
I sign Marianna out of school while Jonas carries her to the truck.
I hold her hand while we drive to the salon a few streets over and then walk in. Marianna grips my hand tighter while Jonas talks in a low tone to the hairdresser. The woman nods and smiles a little too long at him. It’s kind of flirtatious, too. I frown.
The hairdresser helps Marianna into the chair and covers her with a cape.
Jonas and I take a seat by a row of windows.
“You’re good with the kids,” I say. “You’d make a great dad.”
He turns his attention toward me and because we’re sitting close together, the power of his gaze is stronger than usual.
“I’ve never thought much about that.”
“Why not?” I’m curious about him and probably shouldn’t be if I want to keep my heart out of his reach.
“I spent too many years trying to survive and overcoming shit to think about having a future family.”
I want to ask him about those years, but I won’t. I don’t want to poke at wounds. Because I know from the small bit that Raven told me that all the Richford brothers had a hellish childhood.
“All done,” the hairdresser announces half an hour later. She removes the cape draped around Marianna. She’d put a dusting of something glittery in Marianna’s shorter hairstyle.
When she shows Marianna her reflection in the mirror, she claps her hands together, her smile restored.
As Jonas pays, the hairdresser slips him a business card with her number and another flirty smile.
“I’ll hang onto this,” I tell him, taking it from his hand and slipping it into my dress pocket.
Outside in the early March afternoon, Jonas pretends to take a bite of the air. “It tastes like a pizza and ice cream kind of day,” he says. “Let’s go spring your brother and make it happen.”
Marianna jumps up and down. “Yay!” She raises her hand to me. “Hold my hand.”
I hold one while Jonas holds the other. Walking along the sidewalk, we look like a young family. I glance at him. Seeing this side of Jonas has thrown me for a loop.
“Pick me up!” Marianna demands of Jonas as we reach the truck.
