“Owen…” It’s only been eight hours, yet I still can’t help but feel relieved to see him as I rush into his arms. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on a plane?”
He gazes down at me, brushing back the flyaways at my temple, then running his thumbs over my lips. “I had an emergency.” I quickly scan him for signs of distress, but then he leans closer, whispering against my lips. “I needed to kiss my wife.”
“Wow,” I reply softly, with a desperation of my own. “Sounds serious.”
He nods, biting his lip. “Like I said… emergency, for sure. I don’t know if I’m gonna make it.”
“But what about Utah?”
“Reuben met me here instead. I signed an hour ago, and he has a meeting with some of the guys from the team.”
“So you officially have an agent?” I can barely contain my excitement for him and the pride I have at how hard he’s fought to heal from his injury. How he’s never given up on what hewants. The man is relentless, and he’s mine. “I’m gonna be married to a Major League player.”
“One day. Maybe.”
“Definitely,” I respond with certainty. “Soon.”
He runs his nose along the length of mine, his breath an incredible tease across my skin. “So, how about that kiss?”
“I think you better do it, honey!” Mrs. Cotten hollers.
I nearly forgot she was here. I can see her fanning her face in my peripheral, but Owen’s sexy smirk is too much to look away from.
Owen snickers. My fortitude starts to sway.
“Come on, Brookey,” he goads. “You know you want to.”
“I don’t. I’m very busy.” I do. He’s simply too pretty.
“Kiss me...” he brushes his lips softly against mine. A delicious tease. Then he pulls me so close, it feels indecent, especially knowing the entire salon is watching. I wouldn’t be surprised if the girls popped a bag of popcorn and settled in for the show. Mrs. Cotten is surely taking notes to report back to her husband later. But I just can’t seem to care. Not when my husband’s slowly dancing with me in the middle of the salon, pressing one hand into my lower back, and still holding my chin so that he has my mouth exactly where he wants it.
“Then, after,” he says, playing me like a fine fiddle, “you’re gonna give me a haircut, Babe. Right here. Right now.”
“Okay, Ruth,” I’ll give him what he wants. I think if I don’t kiss him right now, I might die.
So, I make out with my best friend in the middle of Bless Your Hair, in front of all of Honey Hill’s busiest, good-hearted gossips, and I promise to give him that haircut he so desperately wants.
Because for me, cutting Owen’s hair is a forever thing.
And that’s exactly how long I plan to keep him.
EPILOGUE
HEAD OVER HEELS, TEARS FOR FEARS
OWEN
“What are we doing at Tots, bro?” I ask, tapping my hands on my legs and smirking wide.Brois one of what Dinah calls Jack’sickwords. Much like how I now feel about the wordsushiortuna. But I don’t mind being a bit of an irritant at the moment, seeing as how I was all but kidnapped, over an hour ago, after practice tonight and have been subjected to a silent drive around Honey Hill with my thundercloud of a big brother.
He remains silent, merely shrugging in response.
“Listen, man, I love you, but Brooke is going to be home any minute, and I haven’t seen her in forever,” I say, softening my approach though I’m feeling anything but soft.
“It’s been two weeks, Owen. I think you’ll live.”
It’s actually been a bit of a huge two weeks for Brooke and me, but Jack doesn’t know all the finer details just yet. Brooke had her first big concert series as Sumer’s hairstylist at a few shows along the coast, and I hit a major milestone in my lifelong dream.
No big deal.
