Page 24 of Love and Other Trials
Havinga gator interrupt his first kiss with Ariel had Dax wondering if her family’s beliefs about wedding curses were catching.
He’d always been lucky, from when he’d won a set of tickets to the Austin zoo through a school raffle at the age of six. He’d brought home a new stereo after being Caller Number Five on the radio one fine spring day. The only girl he’d wanted to go to the prom with—the most sought-after cheerleader—had agreed. His high school basketball team had won the state championship. The Naval Academy, his first choice of schools, had made his life when they’d accepted him. He’d been top of his class at Top Gun, as much for his technical abilities as his creative flying. He could go on…
But having a kiss interrupted by a gator named Bumper? That seemed totally outside the normal, and it sure as hell wasn’t something Dax wanted to happen again. Especially since he so desperately wanted to kiss Ariel. Not only was she as cute as a button and sexy as hell, but she didn’t scream or run in the face of trouble. Some women would have fainted dead away at the sight of that gator back there. She’d been rock solid, but then again, she did search and rescue. He had a feeling he could take her up in the air and do barrel rolls and she wouldn’t flinch.
Shopping for a wig was another matter…
The two margaritas she’d had at lunch wouldn’t be near enough to get the poor girl through that. Especially since her mother had already picked out her hairpiece. Shocker. The very sight had made his nose scrunch up, to be honest, and Ariel’s entire face had bunched up like she’d smelled something rotten.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but are you sure this is what my mother selected?” Ariel asked, her voice raspy.
Dax pressed his hand to her tense back as they both stared at the long, wavy dark blond wig more suited to a beauty queen contender than the sassy woman standing close to him. Why was it dark blond and not brown? Had her mother wanted her to be a bottle blond like her sisters?
He had the urge to protect Ariel from her family. Hell, even from the shop owner. She closely resembled Cruella de Vil with her almost feral gaze and her pointy chin, white and black muumuu, and loads of costume jewelry. Ariel kept saying Charleston had characters, and this here was definitely another.
“Yes,” Cruella answered, petting it like it was a miniature dog. “Your mother and I had a consultation first thing this morning when she called. She assured me this wig would be perfect for the wedding.”
Not Ariel, Dax observed. The wedding…
God, he’d never been more glad not to be a woman.
Ariel cleared her throat. “I see. Well, I’m not sure this wig is going to suit me, what with me being so petite.”
“Don’t dismiss it yet.” Cruella moved toward Ariel, gripping the atrocity in her hands, looking ready to bowl her over and wrestle it on her head. “It’s called Longing for Locks, and it’s one of my bestsellers.”
There were wig bestsellers? He was in a new universe. Get him out! Still, Dax stepped in front of Cruella to block her from reaching Ariel and gave her his best shit-eating grin, one honed for the older ladies at church who used to pinch his cheeks abominably and try to set him up with their daughters.
“Ma’am, I have to agree with Ariel here. That wig looks more appropriate for an Amazon than a pint-sized sweetheart like Ariel here. How about this one?”
He pointed to the display shelf to distract her, almost laughing at himself. What the hell did he know about wigs? Then he shoved that thought away. He knew women. Spotting a cute little bob in Ariel’s actual hair color, he walked over to the freaky head displaying it with the penciled-in brows and glassy green eyes. God, he was going to have nightmares about this place. Styrofoam female heads wearing bad wigs were going to haunt him in his dreams. Ask him big questions likeWhat did he want out of life?orWhat did he look for in a woman?
“A woman Ariel’s size would be swallowed up by that much hair.” He made himself lean in to Cruella confidentially, like they were besties. “This little brown bob would suit her delicate features better, don’t you agree? I imagine it will also showcase her bridesmaid’s dress better, something the bride must be proud of selecting.”
God, he was grasping at straws here. Ariel slipped behind the woman and made a show of clapping silently, her tense mouth fighting a smile now. Good. Mission accomplished.
“Ariel’s mother was very insistent on the wig I showed you.” Cruella’s tone was syrupy yet tough as nails. “If she’d try it on, she’d see why.”
Dax wasn’t putting her through that. Sure, she intended to lose the wig anyway, but that didn’t matter—what mattered was ensuring she enjoyed herself. He plucked the wig he’d chosen off the freaky head display and strode over to Ariel. Eyes pleading, he fitted it as gently as he could, wincing as she fought laughter.
“Here now, wait!” Cruella slapped his hand like he was a bad schoolboy. “You need a wig cap. Land sakes, you men are about as useful as tits on a bull.”
God, when was the last time he’d heard that one? From one of the cheek pinchers probably. Cruella huffed but she brought a wig cap over. First time he’d ever seen one of those, but Dax politely plucked it from her hands after giving Ariel the wig to hold.
“Allow me.” He flashed her a winning smile. “I’m told I have magic hands.”
“I’ll bet, but not in this fashion, young man.” Cruella cut him a terrifying glare, making him wonder if she’d been the model for the freaky female heads on the shelves.
Ariel let him do his best to put it on her. The wig cap made him wonder about the torture women endured for beauty. His mother and sister liked to look nice, and they went to the beauty parlor and had their nails done. But nothing too extreme that he knew of.
Of course, he’d heard old girlfriends talk about things like sugar hair removal—his untutored male mind imagined something as a clear pancake syrup—and fish-eating pedicures, which were straight-up terrifying. He couldn’t imagine paying to stick his feet in water with pedicure-focused piranhas. He’d live with calluses.
Thank God the wig cap only rated about a two on the beauty torture scale. Between the two of them, they got Ariel’s hair tucked into the darn thing within seconds. He tried to ignore how soft her hair was and how pretty she looked up close. Her nose was a sweet little accent to her oval face, but it was the rapid rise of her chest from her accelerated breathing that had him getting a little hot under the proverbial collar.
Ariel handed him the wig, biting her lip, trying not to laugh. Good. At least that pale, horrified expression had faded. Dax couldn’t imagine anyone in his family doing anything like this. He did his best to fit the wig, only to have Cruella ram her elbow into him to push him aside.
“You’re doing it all wrong.” She tugged on the wig, making Ariel wince. “There. That’s better.”
Dax didn’t care for the wince or the way Cruella was eyeing Ariel, so he walked over and lifted up her chin. Her blue eyes were enormous and sad, the expression almost like Sherlock’s. “Shall we amble over to the mirror and see what you think?”
