Page 115 of Caught from Behind

Easy-going.

I don’t trust it.

I also…well, I also want this to be some sort of permanent change.

For Riggs’s sake.

“I can recommend a good coffee shop nearby,” I tell him as he starts following me to the salon. “Unless you really want that haircut. If so, I’ll get my client started and give you your trim while they’re processing.”

A pause. “What’s processing?”

“Processing the chemicals I’ll put in her hair,” I explain as I start up the stairs. “In this case, the products that are going to lighten certain parts.”

He walks next to me, quiet for a moment, as though processing—heh—that.

But as I reach for the handle of the door to the salon, he nods decisively, some unspoken decision reached. “I’ll stay.”

Color me—no pun intended—surprised.

“Okay then.” I start to pull the wooden and glass panel open, but he beats me to it, holding it wide so I can enter before him. I study him closely. “Why are you being so nice?”

“You don’t have to sound so suspicious about it,” he grumbles, but his mouth is curved up.

“Look, Todd-o-Rama,” I say, pausing on the threshold and holding his stare. “I don’t know you all that well, but if you’re going to go full Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde on me, I’m going to demand some explanations. Especially when it affects the man I…care about.”

He scowls, pulls the door a little wider, gestures me inside. “There’s a chill in the air.”

I just flick up my brows.

He sighs, and it’s a disgruntled, frustrated sound.

Good.

He can be annoyed with me instead of Riggs.

“Well?” I press.

His scowl deepens. “Maybe I thought about what you said at the game,” he eventually says.

“And…?” I coax.

He sounds like he’s cutting glass when he says, “And…I think you may be right.”

“Of course I am,” I say calmly, even though I’m fist-pumping inside. I turn and walk into the salon, allowing some of the victorious feeling in my heart to creep into my smile.

Until I see that Kit’s here.

Standing at his desk, his eyes on me, his expression careful.

“Afternoon,” I say softly.

“Afternoon.”

My eyes slide closed, relief filling my insides with helium, and I have to force my gait to stay steady, to not rush over to him and kiss his adorable cheeks.

Because it’s the first thing he’s said to me since that day.

One word and it feels like he stood up on the counter and recited a monologue about our friendship to the whole salon.

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