Page 41 of To Die For

“Stop sulking.”

“I’m not sulking. Realizing that there’s no point in talking is not the same as sulking.”

The dryer dinged, and I got my clothes out while he cleaned up the table. “Go on upstairs,” he said. “I’ll be up in a minute to help you get dressed.”

He came up while I was brushing my teeth again, because pancakes make my teeth feel sticky, and he stood beside me at the vanity, using the other basin while he did the same. Brushing our teeth together made me feel strange. That was something married people did. I wondered if one day I’d do all my tooth-brushing here in this bathroom, or if some other woman would be standing in my place.

He crouched down and held my capri pants for me, and I balanced myself with one hand on his shoulder while I stepped into them. He zipped and buttoned, then eased his shirt off me and slipped my bra in place and hooked it.

My blouse was sleeveless, which was good, but the bandage was so big the armhole was just barely big enough. He had to tug the cloth across it, which had me wincing and mentally thanking Dr. MacDuff for the dope. He buttoned the tiny buttons that marched up the front of the blouse, then I sat on the bed and eased my feet into sandals. I continued to sit there, watching him as he dressed. The suit, the white dress shirt, the tie. The shoulder holster. The badge. The handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt. The cell phone clipped to the front. Oh, man. My heart was jumping like crazy, just watching him.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“No. You haven’t put up my hair yet.” I could have gone with it down, since I wasn’t working out today, but I was still pissed at him.

“Okay.” He got the brush, and I turned so he could gather my hair in a ponytail at the back of my head. When he had it all caught in one hand, he said, “What do I put around it?”

“A scrunchie.”

“Awhatie?”

“Scrunchie. Don’t tell me you don’t have a scrunchie.”

“I don’t even know what the hell a scrunchie is.”

“It’s what you use to hold up ponytails. Duh.”

“I haven’t worn a ponytail lately,” he said drily. “Will a rubber band do?”

“No! Rubber bands break the hair. It has to be a scrunchie.”

“Where do I get a scrunchie?”

“Look in my bag.”

He was very still behind me. After a few seconds, without saying a word, he let go of my hair and went into the bathroom. Now that he couldn’t see me, I grinned to myself.

“What the hell,” he said about half a minute later, “does a scrunchie look like?”

“Like a big rubber band with cloth on it.”

More silence. Finally he came out of the bathroom with my white scrunchie in his hand. “Is this it?”

I nodded.

He started the process of gathering my hair again.

“Put the scrunchie on your wrist,” I directed. “Then you can just slide it off around the ponytail.”

His thick wrist just about stretched my scrunchie to the limits, but he grasped the theory at once and got my hair in a decent ponytail without any more delay. I went into the bathroom and checked out the results. “That’s good. I think I can go without earrings today, if that’s all right with you.”

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Thank you, Lord.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. This was your idea, remember.”

As we went down the stairs, I heard him mutter behind me, “You little shit,” and I grinned to myself again. It was good that he knew I’d got back at him, because otherwise what would be the point?

Chapter

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