Page 25 of Fighting Words

He waves them in the air. “Hop to it.”

“Now?I haven’t even had my coffee.”

“Good, your hands will be steadier.”

From upstairs, Nate grabs a towel and a black comb. Then he takes a seat in one of the kitchen chairs, waiting for me. When I don’t budge, he lifts an eyebrow, taunting me. I push to stand, promising Dog I’ll be back for more pets in a bit. He flops back down on the ground, happy to stay right where he is in front of the fire.

“I really shouldn’t do this,” I tell Nate.

I’ve never cut a man’s hair before. Andrew would never, ever let me get near his head with a pair of scissors. Every three weeks, he goes to a men’s salon in Manhattan and spends upwards of $100 on a cut he’s sported the entirety of our relationship. He likes it trimmed neat and short, parted on the right side, held in place with pomade.

I don’t mind that Andrew’s a little vain about his looks. In his job, it’s expected. But something tells me Nate would balk at the idea of spending that kind of money on a haircut. He holds out the scissors for me to take when I get near him.

“Just try,” he implores, holding my gaze. “If it’s horrible, I’ll go get a real haircut.”

“Fine, but while I cut, we discuss work. Deal?”

I take his silence as an agreement and get busy wrapping the towel around his shoulders. A chip clip holds it in place. We areveryprofessional around here.

“Where’d you go last night?” I ask as I curve around him to stand at his back.

“Into town.”

“See anyone interesting?”

“Usual crowd,” he says, his tone flat and disinterested.

I wonder if the usual crowd included Alice. I’m so hung up on them. Maybe I wouldn’t be if I knew the score. If I knew for sure they were together, it wouldn’t needle me so much.

There’s no way of asking outright though. He’d have to volunteer it. Discussing each other’s dating lives feels too intimate. Of course, cutting his hair feels too intimate too, but here we are.

“Are you going to get started?” he prompts.

“Yes, hush, you. I’m just trying to get a feel for your hair. It has a lot of curl to it.”

I haven’t actually touched him yet. Deep down, I’m a little scared to.

“I won’t cut much, just a half inch or so,” I tell him.

He holds up the scissors over his shoulder, and I take them on an exhale. Here goes nothing.

I start small, insanely small. The first snip only takes off three, maybe four strands.

“So you want to talk about work?” he asks.

I thought I did. Now, I realize I’ll need laser-sharp focus if I’m going to pull this off.

“No talking,” I say, my tone like a drill sergeant.

He chuckles under his breath, and I lean down so I can trim a little bit more. It gets easier as I go. I realize I’m not completely inept at this, and my less-is-more strategy is paying off. I snip slowly, shaping up the back first. I’m a natural, and the talent goes to my head quickly enough. I tell him to look down,here,there,a little left,more left, as confident as if I’ve been doing this my whole life. He does as he’s told, and he’s quiet.

To say it’s a pleasure to have my hands all over his hair is an understatement. It’s one of the greatest joys I’ve experienced in life, and we’re including milestones like holding my baby niece in my arms for the first time.

His hair is thick and silky even as it air dries. Before long, I have the back and sides just the way I want them, and I slowly work my way to the front.

There’s no way around it. I tap his knee so he’ll part his legs. Stepping up between them is the only way for me to trim the front of his hair without leaning over him and killing my back. I don’t want to be in this position, tucked securely between his thighs. Believe me, if I could, I’d tape my scissors to a yardstick and give him a haircut from across the kitchen.

We would be better off keeping our distance from each other. I’m intimately aware of his powerful legs sandwiching mine. He’s so careful not to touch me, holding perfectly still. Nate’s height means my chest is at his eyeline. I’m basically offering my breasts up to him on a silver platter. I’ve never been flat-chested and lithe, like Emma. She got the ballerina body whereas I look more like a ’40s pinup girl.

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