Apparently, it was. And as I found my feet carrying me toward the bathroom, I told myself I didn’t care how it happened. When the universe hands you a gift, you should be polite and accept it,right?
The little bathroom was bathed in light from the window above the toilet and still warm and humid from the shower. Daniel had wiped away a broad circle of condensation from the mirror and now coated his cheeks in shaving cream, which was both adorable and hot at the sametime.
Maybe because you think everything he does ishot?
I leaned against the door frame and just looked at him for a moment, at the big, strong hands that held therazor.
“You were carving something,” I said, as his movements made me recall something else. “Out on the porch. A couple weeks ago when I came by.” I’d been too nervous about confessing my outburst at the diner to ask him about it then, but now I wanted toknow.
He paused and smiled ruefully at me in the mirror. “Ah, yes. My attempt at whittling. Seemed like a good hobby. Goes with the whole cabin vibe, right? But maybe it’s meant for someone with more delicate hands than mine.” He flexed his fingers in front ofhim.
“Or maybe you just need morepractice.”
“Hmm. Maybe. It’s hard for me to stick with things I’m not good at, though. Personality flaw. When I was young, I took tennis lessons exactly once. Played soccer for two weeks. Switched from French to Italian toSpanish.”
I raised my eyebrows at this influx of information, filling a few of the five-million mostly-missing jigsaw pieces of Daniel’s past. “En serio? Because you seem to be adapting pretty well to all kinds of newthings.”
“But I’m good at those things.” His grin faltered. “Or at least I felt like Iwas.”
I snorted. “Any better and I’d have detonated,” I assured him. “Twice.”
My eyes were transfixed by the way the spattering of his chest hair gleamed in the bright sunlight, and I almost wished he wasn’t planning to shave his beard off. I wanted to feel it against my cheek when he kissed melater.
Daniel paused again, the hand with the razor hovering over his cheek. “Problem?”
“What?No.”
“You’re looking at me like you’re worried. I promise I’ve used one of thesebefore.”
“No, I just… was wondering what would happen if you grew it out, that’sall.”
“I can tell you what would happen,” he said, making smooth strokes through the lather. “I’d look like a werewolf in about fourdays.”
“You? Nah. You’re not the werewolf kind. Maybe more like a lion.” I squinted at him and ran through my mental list of animals. Maybe more like a beaver, constantly building dams to wall off uncomfortable topicsof…
“Jules. What are you thinking?” His voice was husky andlow.
“B-beavers?”
He snorted. “What?”
“Did you know that beavers have more hair in one square inch of fur than a human has on its entire body?” Iblurted.
He barked out a shocked laugh and his hand jostled through the last of the foam. “Shit! Nickedmyself.”
“Oh, fuck,” I cried, rushing forward to grab his chin and inspect the small dot of blood. “Fuck, I’msorry.”
“Stop, Jules. Stop, it’s fine. See?” He swiped his cheek with the towel, taking most of the blood with it. “No harmdone.”
I dropped my hands and shook my head, mortified. No harm done, except proving that I couldn’t have a conversation without veering into ridiculoustrivia.
“Jules?” His voice was extra-deep andslow.
“Yeah.”
“Look atme.”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
