Page 89 of When We Break

“You don’t have to dry it,” I murmur as he gently makes his way through my wet hair. “I’ll braid it.”

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice soothing and quiet, and I watch him work in the mirror. “Do you want your music?”

God, this man is good at taking care of me. “No, I like the quiet right now.”

“Hmm.” He smiles at me in the mirror and continues to work. “How do you feel?”

“I’m settling down.”

“You’re so fucking strong, baby.”

I can’t respond to that. I just watch him as he methodically combs my wet hair, and when he’s finished, he doesn’t give me the chance to braid it myself.

“Tip your head back for me,” he says, and I immediately comply.

“How do you know how to French braid hair?” I ask him, surprised when he sections the strands and starts to weave them together.

“Birdie.” He winks at me in the mirror. “She loves braids, and when Bridger was single and without child care, I’d take care of her sometimes. Billie taught us all how to braid so we could do it for her. Your hair is easier.”

“It’s way thicker.”

“Yeah, Birdie’s hair is fine, and my hands are too big. Your hair is easier for my clumsy fingers.”

“Your fingers aren’t clumsy. Trust me, I know.”

He exhales, and when he reaches the bottom of the braid, I pass him a black tie from the counter. When it’s secure, Beckett wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my ear.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Irish.”

My heart stops, and my eyes flit up to his in the glass. He’s so calm. His whiskey eyes are full of warmth and tenderness, and my heart starts to beat again, sending fire through my veins. It’s as though he could read my mind just a few minutes ago.

“Beck.” I spin in his arms to look him in the face, and my fingers instinctively reach for his whiskers. “I love you, too.”

He boosts me up onto the vanity, and his lips find mine in a kiss so tender it brings tears to my eyes. But rather than deepen the kiss, he pulls back and ghosts his fingers down my cheeks.

“Where are your makeup wipes?” he asks, making me raise an eyebrow.

“In that drawer.” I gesture to my left, and he opens the drawer, pulls out the blue container, and tugs out several wipes to remove my makeup. “And how do you know about makeup wipes, Mr. Blackwell?”

I slap a hand over my mouth. Of course, I’m not his first girlfriend.

“Forget I asked that.”

With a shake of his head, he takes my hand away from my face and kisses it before setting it back in my lap.

“Billie used to walk around the house at the end of the day, wiping her face down. My sister is a girly-girl, so we always had to have her makeup wipes.”

“Hmm.” He frowns at my eyelashes, and I grin up at him. “Those are fake. You’ll have to peel them off.”

Taking a step back, he holds his hands up in surrender. “That’s above my pay grade. Peel your own lashes off, Irish.”

For the first time since we got back to the suite, I laugh. Once I’ve peeled off the artificial lashes, Beck steps back to me to resume wiping my face. Having my makeup removed has never felt so good.

“Can I ask some questions?”

He brushes the wipe over my eyebrow. I never knew that could feel so good.

“Shoot,” he replies.

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