Page 42 of Sunshine
I lower my head to wipe a tear from my eye before it falls. These two don’t know how lucky they are.
Dylan sets Izzy down, and she skips back to her toys—she’s given them paper tickets with numbers to indicate who’s next inline for the hairdressing chair—and as he moves into the kitchen, he casts a nervous eye over the pile of dark curls I’ve scooped into a neat pile at my feet.
“Do I want to know?” he asks.
“We’re getting ready for tomorrow,” I explain. “Working out how Izzy wants to wear her hair for her first day at the new school. I gave her ends a tiny trim while we were at it.”
Dylan’s brows shoot up, but his mouth gives away his amusement. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I looked it up on YouTube.” I flick the yellow towel hard enough that it whips through the air with acrackand cuts off whatever Dylan intended to say. “Who’s next?”
Izzy runs over and presses a slip of paper into Dylan’s palm. “Daddy’s turn!”
“Oh, no.” Dylan waves his palms and takes a step back, prompting Izzy to circle around and push him forward, her little hands digging into those glorious glutes.
He stumbles forward a little, and I grin as I give his mop of hair a professional examination. “You could use a tidy-up. And those scrunchies have got to go.”
His neck flushes a little red as he swipes the orange hair tie from his head, but it leaves his hair sticking up at odd angles, and it’s just too adorable.
Izzy continues to shove at him, grunting with effort, while I swap the counter stool in front of the mirror for a dining chair and gesture for Dylan to take a seat. He looks at it askant.
“Are youscared?” I tease.
He looks at me like the answer should be obvious. “Uh…yeah?”
I laugh as Izzy puts her shoulder into it, and with one big heave, Dylan stumbles forward and drops into the seat. I throw the towel around his shoulders, and electricity sparks when my fingers brush his neck.
In our reflections, our gazes snap together.Shit.
Has it really been seven days since he kissed me? Seven days since we admitted mutual attraction and decided not to let it rule us? Seven days of Dylan never letting on that he wanted more than that one moment. Seven nights of me wondering if a kiss was all he needed to get me out of his system. If maybe that’s why he’s been so easy this week. He stopped wanting me.
But now…tingles. Everywhere.
I swallow and smile, pretending that nothing happened, as I pick up a pair of scissors and a comb. Then I turn to Izzy, who frowns at her father’s mess of hair.
“How much should we take off?” I ask her as we evaluate the situation.
“Just a trim,” Dylan insists, but we ignore him.
“An inch? Maybe two?” I suggest.
Izzy’s face screws up, and I choke back a laugh at Dylan’s growing panic.
“Half an inch,” Izzy decides.
Dylan releases a relieved breath, which catches again the moment I push my fingers into his hair.
Oh, Jesus, take the wheel.
Dylan’s hair is thick and soft, and as it brushes against my skin, I decide I prefer it long. Dylan wore it shorter when we were younger, but he’s older now and it suits him, a hint of the man he’d be if he let loose. The same with the scruff around his jaw. It’s rugged and primal, the way he behaved at The Tipple. The way I imagine he is in the bedroom.
I massage my fingertips against his scalp, noting the subtle way his eyes roll back in his head when I do it, then drag them back to let the strands slip through my fingers. I do it again, not because I need to but because it feels so damn good.
“Here,” Izzy says, handing me the spray bottle. “You take care of Daddy while I let the other customers know they have to wait.”
“Good idea, Iz,” I say, struggling to maintain a natural tone.
She turns to scoop up as many stuffies as she can fit in her small embrace. “They’ll be happier on the sofa,” she explains as she carts them out into the other room.
