And there it is. The thing he doesn’t usually let people see. No confidence, no charm, no easy humour. Just concern. Care. A man who wants to get this right.
Vulnerability suits him. It’s quieter than his usual cockiness, but far more compelling. Add that to his looks of tall, dark (with a tiny bit of grey), and extraordinarily handsome, and you have a formula that will make every woman cream her knickers.
“Okay,” I say, professional now. “Lucy, eyes forward. Uncle Geoff, no commentary unless I ask.”
“I’ll behave,” he says quietly.
I lift the fringe again, fingers gentle, keeping it even. Lucy sits very still on the kitchen island, legs dangling, hands folded in her lap with exaggerated care, like she’s been given a very important job.
“Perfect,” I murmur. “Just like that.”
She nods once and freezes.
I catch Geoff's eye over the top of her head, and he gives a small, helpless grin.
Snip. Snip.
I step back, tilt my head, then go in for one last corrective cut. Nothing dramatic. Nothing irreversible. Just enough to suggest intention rather than enthusiasm.
“There,” I say, lowering my hands. “Ivy-adjacent.”
Lucy slides off the island immediately. “I want to see.”
“Obviously,” I say. “Mirror time.”
Geoff doesn’t hesitate. He lifts her straight back up, settling her on his hip like its muscle memory, and carries her towards the three doors at the end of the room. I follow at an easy pace, unhurried, the crisis already easing.
He stops in front of the bathroom sink and angles her slightly so she can see herself in the mirror. Lucy leans forward, studying her reflection with the seriousness of someone assessing a very important decision.
She tilts her head. Then the other way.
“It looks like Ivy’s,” she says.
“Similar,” I reply. “Yours has a bit more personality.”
Lucy smiles at that. “Mine is fancy.”
“It is,” I agree.
Geoff watches her in the mirror, his grip steady, careful not to rush her. He looks different like this. Grounded. Protective without being showy. The panic has gone, leaving something quieter behind.
“I like it,” Lucy decides at last.
“Very stylish!” I say. “And it’s not in your eyes anymore.”
She nods, then her face tightens a little. “Daddy might be cross.”
Geoff shifts his weight. “Daddy might be surprised.”
Lucy frowns. “I didn’t mean to be naughty.”
I step closer. “I know. And you won’t be in trouble. We’ll tell him you wanted to be like Ivy.”
She looks from him to me. “Promise?”
Geoff answers before I can. “Promise.”
That seems to be what she needs. She pats his shoulder once, tentative, then wriggles to be put down. He lowers her and she scampers back towards the living room, crisis already shrinking in the rear-view mirror.
