Page 82 of Accidental Blind Date
Libby
Ilook good.
I’m not a vain person and I don’t say or even think things like that often. More like I find a quirky new dress at a thrift shop or a funny t-shirt online and I buy it, not caring if it’s hot or in or age appropriate. I’m not even thirty (yet), most things I can still get away with. And this green and white striped dress I found at the mall is totally cute and actually fits my curves and, well, I look hot.
I also got my nails done and my hair deep conditioned and styled and honestly, I just feel lovely, and I want Dax to see.
Knowing the girls are at school and Dax is working from home, I head to his house. I don’t even call, which is also not really like me, but I want to surprise him. I’m even wearing heels, something I have a feeling he will love.
Sure enough, his car is there, and I head to the front door. I knock and I wait, clasping my hands together in anticipation. I rub my lips together to make sure they’re still perfectly glossed. I fix my hair a little and then stand still. Then my brow furrows.
It’s taking him a long time to come to the door. I ring the bell this time and wait again. Nothing. He’s not a napping man and I can’t imagine that he’d be taking a shower at one in theafternoon. Going for broke, I try the door. It’s unlocked. Also, odd. Either way, I decide to let myself inside.
“Dax?” I call through the house that smells like linen and coffee and kid things. It’s cozy, warm, and homey, and I love it. There’s no answer. But I do hear something upstairs. I make my way towards his bedroom, a room I didn’t see the other day on my tour with the girls. The door is wide open, and I can hear muffled noises coming from the lit but also open bathroom.
“Dax?” I ask again, much softer. As I step across the gray carpet, I can’t help but look at his bed. The dark green comforter. The black sheets. Everything is tidy and neat but there’s character too. A guitar on the wall. I wonder if he knows how to play. I picture his hands strumming, running up and down the fret board. It sends a shiver through me.
I decide to keep going before I get too excited and stop in front of the bathroom door. “Dax? What on earth are you doing?” The last part comes out more amused than I mean for it to, and I cover my smiling mouth with my hand.
Sitting on the counter is a store box of hair color. It’s blonde, though not the right tone for his hair. It’s open, the contents spread out by the sink and the instructions open like a map.
“My hair is gray.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from my throat. “Your hair?” I squeak.
“Is gray,” Dax grumbles again.
I look at his hair, mid length, currently a little messy (I love at home Dax. A sexy alternative to slicked back, at work Dax.) golden blonde and flecked with silver.
“Not…all of it…” I say with an encouraging smile, but Dax is not amused. His jaw is hard, and his mouth is turned down.
“I wanted to color the gray which I have no idea how to do because I’ve never had gray before, not until a few years ago. I thought they would just blend in but they’re getting more andmore obvious, which makes my age more and more obvious, and you’re beautiful and I thought, what the hell? Why not mask them? But I can’t do that because I can’t even figure out the next step on the damn instructions! What the hell is developer?”
“Something, you don’t need,” I answer. I go over to the box and shove all the contents back inside. Then I fold up the instruction map and tuck that inside the box too and turn to Dax.
“Why are you suddenly worried about it?” I ask.
He looks at himself in the mirror, giving his reflection a critical look. “I never had gray hair before Tess died.”
I nod, my face softer. “I understand.”
“And it’s like, when it happened, things just spiraled out of control. I had no idea how to take care of the house by myself, how to raise the girls by myself, how to work and be two parents by myself. It’s the little things, you know? Like how to make oatmeal so it’s not too sticky and not too runny. How to steal away a security blanket that has been dragged through the sandbox and needs to be washed. Not to mention how to actually wash the thing without making it ball up. It’s hair braids, kindergarten crushes, and heart shaped sandwiches. And the next thing you know…gray hair.”
I smile and grab Dax by the t-shirt, tugging him closer to me. “You are doing amazing.”
“My life is messy,” he says.
“Of course it is. It’s life. Lived in and genuine, realistic, and chaotic. It’s life.”
“I try to keep it organized. Because Tess did it so well. So effortlessly.”
“I doubt it was effortless,” I say. Then I look up at his hair, which I find to be very sexy. “Why are you suddenly so worried about it anyways?”
“I was at the gym with Kai,” he starts in, and I roll my eyes.
“Oh God. I should have known my punk ass brother was the culprit.”
“He was giving me shit,” he grumbles.
