“N-no. I just…P-Parker…Party…Photos…”
My smile grows, aware that I’m the reason she can’t form a proper sentence.
“I told you, baby. I’m waiting for you to do it.”
“But—”
“I trust you.” I pull back and look into her eyes so she can see the truth within them. “I’ve even got all the stuff ready.”
“What?”
“I’ve got all the equipment you need to cut and dye my hair.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I don’t think that’s news to anyone, sweetheart.”
“I’m a trained beauty therapist, not a hairdresser. They’re very different things.”
“I trust you,” I repeat, my eyes jumping between hers and her swollen lips.
“I—” Her argument is cut off when her stomach rumbles incredibly loudly, reminding me that I abandoned our lunch in favor of getting my mouth on her.
“I need to feed you, then you can do my hair.”
“Everett, I can’t—” I silence her with my lips before taking her hand, collecting the bag, and taking them both to the kitchen.
“There isn’t anything you can’t do, sweetheart.”
“If I fuck it up, Parker will never forgive me.”
“Firstly, you won’t fuck it up. As you said, it’s grown out and looks like shit.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Maybe not those exact words, but we both know it’s what you meant.”
“I didn’t…” Her eyes jump to my outgrown hair, and I know she’s thinking exactly that. “It does need doing, though.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll be happier giving you a facial, manicure, and back massage.”
“How about I take everything that involves you having your hands on me?”
“You’re a menace.”
“I’ll be anything you want me to be, baby,” I say with a wink as I slide her sandwich toward her.
Her laughter is light, and it wraps around me like a warm hug I never want to step out of.
“Can you get the picture out?” I ask, glancing at her purse sitting on the other end of the counter. “I want to see him again.”
“Him?”
“Or her,” I counter.
“Are you still okay with not finding out today?” she asks nervously, as if I could regret anything when it comes to her.
