Page 14 of Head Over Heels

I walk her to the door. I reach out to shake her hand—it feels like we should seal the deal we’ve made—and she leans in for our usual quick hug. Somehow we end up doing both at the same time, which means my hand gets crushed against her breast.

My brain goes into instant shutdown at the softness, like I’m thirteen and not twenty-eight, like I’m copping my first illicit feel.

Also, something about the weird way we fell into the hug puts my face in her hair, which smells amazing, like apples.

I jump back because I can feel myself getting hard, and the last thing I want is anything between us, no pun intended.

She slips out the door.

I stand there for a minute, trying to absorb everything that’s happened in the last few hours. Was that some kind of moment? Or was it just me acting like a teenager?

I lock the front door and climb the stairs to make sure Katie’s all tucked in. I kiss her forehead and pull her covers up, then head into my bedroom, shed my clothes, brush my teeth, and get into bed.

I congratulate myself on my good work. Katie’s going to love having Liv here. Liv’s going to help me figure out hair-braiding and friendship bracelets and fairy princessesandgive me some much-needed marketing wisdom. And I gave Liv a temporary job and a place to live.

What’s not to love?

Only: I can feel it there, still swirling in my gut, my surprised reaction to the unexpected contact between us. I’ve shut it downhard,but like the browser window you don’t want your coworker to see, it’s still open down there, somewhere.

Chapter 6

Liv

When I knock on Chase’s door the next morning, his voice comes from deep inside, “Door’s open! We’re in the kitchen!”

I let myself in and find them there, Katie squirming and tear-streaked in a chair and Chase standing behind her with a brush in one hand, a pink elastic in the other, and a frazzled expression on his face.

“She wants a braid,” he says, and the desperation in his usually hyper-competent voice makes me laugh.

“You can do this,” I tell him.

It would be easy for me to take the brush and the elastic and do it for him, but that’s not what I want for Chase and Katie.

“Is it brushed?”

He shakes his head. “I keep making her cry.”

“The trick is to hold it above where you’re brushing.”

I take the brush and show him, then hand it back to him. He gets through the rest of her hair without sending her into sobs again.

“Now put the brush down so you have both hands free,” I instruct.

He sets it on the table.

“Divide her hair into three parts.”

The fine corn silk of Katie’s hair catches on the roughness of Chase’s hands, on the tiny curls of hair below each knuckle and the callused skin of his palms.

“Right side over center, then left side over center—no, the new center. See how the right is the center now?” I step close behind him and put my hand over his. He smells fresh from the shower, and my spidey senses identify Ivory and Old Spice, two of my favorites. Funny; I guess whenever I’ve hung out with him before, it’s been in the evening.

I show him how the braid works.

“Oh!” he says. “I get it.”

He winds the hanks around each other with surprising dexterity. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Those are hands that tie flies from tiny feathers and filament strands. A braid is big work by comparison. Right over center, left over center—I realize I’m staring, almost mesmerized.

He fumbles again trying to get the elastic on, and I have to step in to show him. “Over, twist, over again. Like so.”

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