Her gaze lifts to mine, reflecting back to me something open and vulnerable in it that makes my chest feel tight. The music keeps playing and the lamp keeps glowing. And for a second, I forget I ever meant to leave.
But then, Juliette shifts, glancing toward the door. “I should probably?—”
Only, something that glistens a little too much catches my eye.
“Hold on,” I say. “You’ve got something in your hair.”
“What?” She reaches up.
“No. I’ve got it.” I step closer before I can stop myself. It’s just a little leaf, probably from the shop or her jacket, tangled near her temple. I lift my hand to brush it away—and my watch snags.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay. That’s…not ideal.”
“What do you mean?” She freezes. “What is not ideal?”
“My watch,” I say, biting my lip to keep from laughing. “Your hair has gotten wrapped around it. It’s stuck.”
“Ohhh no.” She laughs nervously. “Of course it is. Is it bad?”
I try to pull back, but it only makes it worse. Her hair tightens around the band. “Ow! That hurts.”
“Wait, don’t move,” I say. “It’s not horrible, but you’re making it worse.”
“Don’t blame me, you’re the one attached to my head now,” she shoots back.
My eyes roll so hard I swear they slam into the back of my skull. “I’m trying to fix it.”
“By fusing us together?”
“Just—come closer,” I say, understanding that I have an anxious woman who is now tethered to me in the most inconvenient way. “Lean in. I can see it better.”
She hesitates. “This feels like a bad idea. Like we need professionals.”
“Probably,” I admit. “But it’s already happening. And if you know professionals who are on stand-by specifically to get hair out of a watch, then we need to find you new friends to hang out with.”
“It’s a niche market.” She exhales and steps closer, her forehead almost brushing my shoulder. “Just, please be careful.”
“Promise,” I whisper as I tilt my head, fingers working carefully at the caught strands.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m trying not to freak out.”
“Don’t worry,” I say softly. “I’ve got you.”
She’s so close now I can see the tiny freckles across her nose. Feel the warmth of her breath. Smell that heady, familiar scent that’s been stuck in my jacket all day.
My heart thuds inside my chest, and she’s so close, I know she hears it. It sounds like kids’ footsteps running in the hallway. I’m just lucky it didn’t forget its job.
“Almost there,” I whisper, my fingers careful as I work the last stubborn strands free. A few pieces of her hair slip loose first, brushing her cheek, soft and uncontained, like they’ve been waiting for this moment, too.
She exhales, then laughs—and it catches me completely off guard.
It’s not the polite laugh she gives customers. Not the restrained one she uses when she’s trying to keep things together. This one is loud and unguarded, bursting out of her like she forgot, if only for a second, to be careful. It’s real.
Her head tips back, shoulders loosening as the rest of her hair finally spills free, and she looks lighter somehow—like something unknotted inside her along with it. I can’t stop staring. At the way her eyes crinkle. At the way she presses her lips together afterward, still smiling, like she’s surprised by herself. At the way the curve of her neck is exposed, soft skin catching the light, and how the urge to trace it hits me out of nowhere.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh like this before. And the fact that I’m standing here—close enough to feel it, close enough to know I’m part of the reason—does something dangerous to my chest.
I smile back, slower this time, softer. My hands don’t move away right away. They linger, fingertips grazing her shoulder,the barest contact, like I’m memorizing the shape of her. Our eyes meet and hold, neither of us in any hurry to look away.
