That earns me a sideways glance.
“I wanted one,” she mutters.
“Naturally,” I say. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. Ivy is very stylish.”
That gets her attention.
“I tried to do it myself,” Lucy says, defensive now.
“I can see that,” I reply calmly. “That took courage.”
Behind me, Geoff makes a small, strangled sound.
“I wasn’t naughty,” Lucy adds quickly.
“I know,” I say at once. “You were creative. There’s a difference.”
Her shoulders drop a fraction. “Daddy says scissors are for grown-ups.”
“He’s right,” I say. “But grown-ups also fix things when experiments go a bit sideways.”
Lucy peers at me, suspicious but hopeful. “Can you make it like Ivy’s?”
“I can make itsimilarto Ivy’s,” I say carefully. “Important difference.”
Geoff lets out another strained sigh that suggests regret and desperation in equal measure.
I glance up at him. “Relax. I cut my own fringe.”
His eyes widen. “That’s not reassuring.”
“It should be,” I reply. “I’ve been doing it for twenty years and I still have friends.”
Lucy brightens. “You cut your own hair?”
“All the time,” I say. “Mostly out of spite.”
That earns me a smirk. A small one, but it’s there.
I stand and scan the room. “Where are the scissors.”
Geoff points to the counter like it might explode if I touch it. I pick them up, check the blades, then crouch back down in front of Lucy.
“Right,” I say. “I need you to sit up on the kitchen island so I can see properly.”
Lucy shakes her head immediately. “I’m not allowed to climb onto cupboards.”
She’s not wrong. Points for consistency.
Geoff steps in before I can negotiate. “Exception,” he says, already scooping her up. “Special circumstances.”
Lucy considers this, then accepts her fate with a sigh of martyrdom as he settles her on the kitchen island. He positions himself behind her without being asked, hands resting lightly on her shoulders, steady and protective in a way that feels instinctive rather than practiced.
I glance up and catch his eye.
I wink.
He blinks, startled, then smiles despite himself.
