“Everything okay in there?” Micah asked as he opened her door.
Although he looked well-rested, with a clear gaze, hair combed, dressed, and ready for the day, while she felt like she was still half asleep, Teresa had a sneaking suspicion he’d slept on the floor outside her bedroom door last night. When she’d walked out of her room this morning to head for the bathroom, the floor right outside the door was warmer than the rest, like someone had recently been standing, sitting, or lying there.
Since Micah was the only other one there, it had to have been him.
Before she’d retired to her room, she’d seen him make up the air mattress in the living room, so she’d assumed he was intending to sleep there. Had he, or had he moved closer to her, watching over her in sleep?
“Just doing my hair,” she muttered, suddenly overcome with emotion by the idea—that she didn't even know was true—that he might have slept on the floor just to be closer to her.
It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did.
“Having your arms up like that will put pressure on your stitches. Come and sit down in the living room, and I’ll do your hair for you,” Micah told her.
“What do you know about doing hair?”
“I’m sure I can manage a ponytail.” Before she could argue further, he’d snatched the hairbrush and hair tie out of her hands and was ushering her toward the door.
While she could argue the point, refuse to move, insist that she had it all under control, the warmth of his hand on the small of her back was soothing, she was tired, and it was easier to give in than stand her ground.
In the living room, he gently pushed her down onto the couch. Picking up the blanket he’d tucked around her yesterday, he now spread it over her legs, tucking it in, before moving to stand behind her.
With smooth, gentle strokes, he drew the brush through her hair. The more he brushed, the more relaxed Teresa became until she felt like she could drift right off to sleep.
After brushing for a solid couple of minutes, much longer than was necessary, but maybe he was enjoying the moment as much as she was, he began to gather her locks together. He fiddled for a while, probably trying to get rid of all the bumps, before he seemed satisfied with his efforts and used the hair tie to secure her hair into a ponytail.
“Still a few bumps,” he said with a critical eye as he came to stand in front of her to survey his handiwork. “Want me to try again? I know how much you always hated bumps in your hair.”
Normally, she did hate to leave lumps in her hair, but today she didn't seem to care. It wasn't just that, though, shewasn't sure she could handle having Micah brush her hair again without collapsing into a puddle of goo. She wasn't ready to hand him that much power yet, but more than that, he’d done his best and that meant more than having her hair perfectly done.
“It’s fine, leave it how it is,” she replied.
His eyes widened in surprise, but then he shot her one of those winning smiles she’d loved when they were teens. He looked pleased as punch that she wanted to leave her hair how he’d done it, and that made her smile despite the anger she still held onto tightly.
Just because he didn't know doesn’t mean he didn't abandon you.
It’s almost worse because he actually believed you were capable of cheating.
And he didn't even care enough to stick around and talk it through. Yell at you even.
The insidious voice whispered through her mind, and the smile slid off her lips. Echoing hers, Micah’s smile also fell away, and she felt a pang at its loss.
The thing was, she didn't want to hold onto her anger. It was draining, it had stolen her happiness for over a decade, and Micah was clearly devastated by what he’d done back then. There wasn't really any way to make up for it, but he was trying, and that did mean something.
“I’d better go check on the bread,” Micah announced, heading for the kitchen.
“The bread?”
“You like fresh bread for breakfast. In the summer you used to try to make it every day since you had time because school was out. I'm sure it’s not going to be anywhere near as good as yours. The dough was rising, though, so that’s something.” His smile came back, and he hurried back into the kitchen.
He was making her bread.
Because he remembered yet another thing about her from when they were together.
Was he hoping to woo her one little thing at a time?
Much as she hated to admit it, that might work. Already she was softening toward him. He wasn't watering down what he’d done, he was accepting full responsibility and apologizing without reservation. He was also doing his best to make amends while understanding that it wasn't something you could just make right. All of that made it increasingly harder to cling to her righteous anger.
Maybe it was time.
