Page 68 of Keep Me

“As a job, you mean?” I reply.

“Yeah.”

I stop and look at the finished product. It’s not too short but still looks fresh on him. And I think back to when I was growing up. There was never a moment when I considered this as a career path.

“I’m a writer,” I reply without enthusiasm.

“I haven’t seen you write a thing,” he replies.

“I need to trim your beard now,” I say, quickly changing the subject.

Leaning over, I get dangerously close to Killian’s face as I comb through the length of it, trimming the excess as I go. His eyes stay glued on mine, but I don’t dare look at him. It’s too close. Too intimate.

“Who decided you were a writer? You?” he asks softly.

I force myself to swallow. But I don’t answer.

“Do you light up when you write the way you’re lighting up right now?”

I freeze. In my mind, the answer is immediate—no.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply as I set the scissors on the counter and unclip the towel from around his shoulders.

“It doesn’t?” he asks.

“No. It doesn’t matter whether I’m supposed to be a writer or a hairdresser or a grumpy Scot’s wife. Because no matter what I do, it will never be enough.”

“Enough for who?”

“Drop it, Killian,” I harp in return. Then I gesture to the mirror. “Just look at yourself. Tell me if you like it.”

With a disgruntled sigh, he stands from the tiny chair and turns toward the large mirror. Pausing for a moment, he stares at his reflection with hesitation.

“You don’t like it,” I say, suddenly nervous about his reaction.

He angles his head back and forth to see the new look. Immediately, I notice that he appears older with a more sophisticated style. But older in a good way. There are patches of gray starting to peek out around the edges of his hairline.

“I love it,” he says in a low whisper.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying,” he says as he turns toward me. “You did a bloody good job.”

I swallow again, twisting my mouth in uncertainty as I force my eyes away.

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

When I turn to walk out of the bathroom, he snatches my arm and pulls me back toward him.

With two fingers under my chin, he angles my face upward. “It does matter.”

I clench my jaw and fidget impatiently, waiting for him to letme go so I no longer have to stare into his eyes. “Okay,” I mutter unconvincingly. “We’re gonna be late.”

Relenting, he lets me go, and I march out of the room. Blinking the emotion out of my eyes, I paint a smile on my face and try to look forward to the way his siblings are going to react when they see him.

***

When we climb into the car, I start to feel Killian tense beside me. His leg is bouncing, and I can hear the clicking of his jaw as he clenches it. Peter tries to make small talk to cover up the fact that Killian is a mess of nerves.

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