Page 32 of Just Come Over
“I’ll write it down. Brands, maybe, and where to buy the good stuff. I’ll text it to you, so when you’re panicking in the store, you can text me back.” She was laughing at him again.
“I’m going to be making a special shopping trip, aren’t I?” he asked.
“Oh, probably.” She didn’t have to sound so happy about it.
He spritzed Casey’s head with the stuff in the bottle, and Zora said, “Put your hand over her forehead so it doesn’t get in her eyes. That’s a detangler, and it adds shine. It’s what I use on my own hair. Don’t brush any more, either. That’s how you get frizz. Work it in gently with the comb instead. You’ll want to comb her hair after you wash it, using the detangler, and then use a bit of the conditioning cream as you work her style. You brush as little as possible, like making pancakes.”
He set the bottle down and met Isaiah’s gaze in the mirror. The boy gave an exaggerated shrug and made an“Idon’t know” face, and Rhys said, “The pancake reference is lost on us.”
“Men think, when they cook anything, that they should stir it thoroughly,” Zora said. “Like they’re mixing paint. But if you’re making pancakes or muffins, you only stir it a bit, and leave some lumps. The texture’s better. Call it ‘a light hand.’ Otherwise, you may as well be cooking up wallpaper paste. That’s how you work with this kind of hair, too.”
“I like muffins,” Casey said, to his absolute non-surprise. “Do you know how to make muffins?” she asked Rhys. “I like chocolate chip ones the best.”
“No,” he said, combing the detangler into her overabundance of hair, which kept trying to fly away. It was soft, though, like holding a baby duck. “I don’t. I just found out that I need four products in order to comb your hair. I’m reeling here. How long is all of this going to take me? I’m going to have to set my alarm earlier.”
“Whingeing,” Zora said.
“Yeh. Tell me what to do next. I’m definitely going to need the text, too. And possibly a step-by-step guide.”
“Text how to make muffins, too,” Casey piped up.
“She can text it,” Rhys said, “but I’m not doing it. There’s a limit, and doing your hair is mine. This is madness. I comb my hair, rub some stuff into it if I’m feeling flash, and I’m done. Groomed.” He met Zora’s gaze again. “Don’t say it.”
“What?” She was trying not to smile, and it wasn’t working.
“Notwellgroomed. No worries, I’m getting my hair cut.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “The wild-man look’s working for you, I’d say. You present a complete picture.”
“Your hair’s kind of messy, though,” Casey said. “Maybe Zora can give you lessons, too.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Your feedback is noted. I’ll point out here that I used to have a bar of soap in the shower and call it good. I’m practically a metrosexual now. I’m aggrieved at your vote of no confidence.”
When Casey climbed down from her stool, her hairwasin a plait, and itdidhave clips at the sides. Of course, Casey had poked at various non-smooth spots and said dubiously, “It has some lumps in it,” but he’d answered, “I’ll do better tomorrow.” Hewasgoing to have to set his alarm earlier.
Zora told him, “Take it out of that plait before bed and do a loose one, low down. It’ll be more comfortable for her to sleep with, and you won’t have to detangle so much in the morning.”
“I just put it in,” Rhys said. “Now I have to take it out?”
“But think how much more you’ll appreciate the effort women go to,” Zora said. “Just wait until it’s makeup time. Also, I didn’t buy any dresses. You have so many surprises in store.” Sounding saucy again, the way she’d used to be, and it made him smile.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “I’m a man with lessons to learn, it’s clear.”
“Come on, Casey,” Isaiah said. “Let’s do a puzzle. I’m glad I don’t have long hair. Girls are weird.”
Rhys blew his breath out, once they’d left the room, cleaned up the explosion of hair elastics, bows, and clips that had somehow happened on the counter, and asked Zora, “Here’s one that’s been bothering me. Do I need to help her do the hair-washing and so forth?”
“Yes,” Zora said, “you do. She won’t get all the shampoo and conditioner washed out by herself, or the other products worked in properly. You teach her as you go, though. Coach her, so she can do it herself later on. Could be a few years before she can do it all.”
A fewyears?What were they coaching here, Olympic gymnastics? “Right,” he said. “But...” He wasn’t sure how to say this. The bath was small, and Zora was right there, watching him in the mirror. She wasn’t wearing the apron anymore, or the jacket she’d thrown on before going out, either. Nothing but that white singlet, which wasn’t as high-cut or as opaque as it might have been, the flirty, floaty little shorts, and bare feet. Her bra straps were showing again, and so was her pale-blue bra. Faintly, but he could see it through her shirt. Her toenails, he’d happened to notice, were painted the delicate pink of the inside of a conch shell. Her fingernails weren’t, because she worked with her hands, he guessed, but her hands were pretty anyway, and her feet were prettier.
He had it bad. Also, he’d forgotten what he’d been talking about.
She wasn’t looking at him, or she was. They were both looking in the mirror. He never let himself stare at her like this, but right now, there was nowhere else to look.
It took her a minute to answer. Maybe she’d forgotten, too. He could see her breasts rising and falling with her breath. It wasn’t that he meant to look, but there she was. Rounded arms, dark waves of hair that looked so soft, that sexy fringe over her eyes, and, bloody hell, that sweet, kissable mouth. She had the best mouth he’d ever seen. How could he not stare at that?
Finally, she said, “Pardon?” Oh. She’d noticed him staring.
