Hands braced on the edge of the counter, he stares down at the empty sink. “Not really.”
I study the invitation again and read a handwritten note at the bottom that I didn’t notice before. “Your mother said you’re welcome to bring a date.”
“Yeah, she mentioned that.”
I swallow down the swarm of bees trying to make their way up from my stomach. Correction. Make that wasps because these are some aggressive suckers. “Here’s a thought. I could go with you.”
His expression is a mix of shock and…maybe distaste? “As my date?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” I turn away so he can’t see what I fear my face may tell him.
“Wait.”
I stop and take a deep breath, schooling my expression to stay casual as I spin around.
He’s staring at me like a lost puppy at the pound. “Would you…come with me, I mean?”
Okay, maybe not distaste. I shrug. “Yeah, why not? You seem to really be dreading it, so perhaps my coming could help.”
His grin slips. “You’ll probably hate it.”
“Why?”
When he looks at me, I see that fear in the back of his eyes that usually shows up when we talk about his progress.
He clears his throat. “Their parties are rather formal.”
“Oh, then I can wear something special. I bought this dress months ago and haven’t had a chance to wear it.” I hop off the stool and stand at the end of the counter, giving me a clear profile of Nick’s angular face and well-defined lips…the dip above his chin, which leads to that neck…and then those broad shoulders…
Yeah, just give me a fan.
But the way he’s keeping his gaze averted makes me think he’s holding a secret. Whatever it is, I can see he’s pretty uncomfortable about it. “Look, I can deal with your parents, even if they’re ogres or something.”
He chuckles. “You’re not far off.”
“Really?”
He shakes his head. “No, they’re good people. Just a bit controlling.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah. And it’s in a week. I probably have to buy a suit and get a haircut.” He runs a hand through his hair as if to make a point, leaving it a tousled mess, which just makes him appear rugged and even sexier if that’s possible. “They don’t care for my ‘hippie look,’ as they call it.”
Without thinking about it, I reach out to run my fingers through a chunk of hair behind his ear. “I can cut it.”
“You know how to style hair?”
“Yeah, no problem. I can do it right now. A cut always looks better after the first week.”
“Is that so?”
“Definitely. Plus, if I mess it up, you’ll still have time to fix it.” The scowl on his face sends me into a fit of laughter. “I’mkidding. I really do know how to cut hair, and I’ve had practice, too.”
He stares at me as if he’s considering my offer. “Okay, I’ll give your styling talents a try.”
“Good. Grab one of those chairs. And we’ll need some scissors, a comb, and a towel. You have a good pair of scissors, I hope.”
“I do.” He emerges from the bathroom with scissors and comb sitting on a neatly folded towel, which he presents to me as if I were royalty or something. “Madam.”
