“I know. I know.” I closed my eyes…just spit it out, Maeve. “Would you let me fix your hair?” My eyes popped open right after the words flew out.
His eye was lowered. He seemed to be thinking.
A breath.
Two.
Three.
He nodded.
“Really?”
He shrugged.
“Okay! I asked Beatrice to let me use the computer and I did some research. I don’t think I’m going to mess it up, but I thought this certain style would look so good on you.” He followed behind me as I headed toward the bathroom. He even stopped at the side table in the bedroom with me for the second it took to slide my glasses on.
As I pulled out the vanity seat, he turned and left.
“That was rude,” I whispered to myself. “He could have just not agreed.”
A minute later, he was back. He handed me a razor that folded, like the ones barbers use.
“Ahh...” I trailed. “Um, did Fiona give you this?”
He nodded.
“That explains a lot.” I bit the side of my cheek, worried he’d decide not to do it, since I really hadn’t thought it out.
A knock came at the bathroom door, and I sighed at who came through it. Beatrice. She had an entire haircutting kit, one that wouldn’t involve me cutting his scalp and causing him bodily harm.
She set it on the counter. “Thought you might need this.”
“I do. Thank you!”
She winked at me but didn’t let Cian see.
“All right.” I clapped my hands together. “Take a seat.”
He did, almost mechanically. He blinked at himself in the mirror and then closed his eye.
“Cian,” I whispered, my hand barely touching him as I set a towel around his neck.
His eye slowly opened.
“If I mess this up…”
He grunted, shook his head, and closed his eye.
“Okay then…”
I took my time, washing through his hair and then drying it, for no other reason than to make this special. I nudged him when I needed him to move, and he did, like I was the breeze, and he was a bird. Our movements were almost in sync, to a point where I’d call them fluid. I tried not to think too hard on it. I needed to concentrate and remember what the tutorial had taught me.
Just like a hair specialist, I moved around him, making sure I had all sides lined up, and the cut would look like it was supposed to.
He wasn’t sleeping. If anything, I could feel an electrical current almost moving through him, like he couldn’t sit still around me. One thing I’d learned about Cian Cillian O'Callaghan: on the regular, he was a very still man.
My hands trembled as I wet them in the sink.
