But she enjoyed a nice shampoo, the experience and the knowledge that her hair would at least be cut in a straight line. A few cuts at the beauty school right after college had cured her of beauty students. Which was a shame, because her sister raved about the place.
“Gretchen, you ready?”
She smiled up at her stylist, reached for her purse and stood. Luckily Alan was a whiz with the scissors. And in the six years she’d been sitting in his chair, he’d never let her down.
“I’m ready.”
She settled into the chair and felt a calm wash through her. Perhaps it was the subdued lighting that gave the space an extra sophisticated feel or maybe it was the confidence boost that always came with a great new haircut. Either way, she grabbed onto the feeling and held on.
“Same as last time?” he asked, draping a cape over her.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw the same average girl who stared back every single day. Brown eyes, creamy skin, muted brown hair in a straight, shoulder length cut.
If a good cut gave her confidence, maybe something different would jump start her love life. Maybe she’d feel sexy for a change. Maybe she’d find a renewed confidence to go after what she wanted. Sadly, that was probably too much to ask of one haircut.
She didn’t honestly believe Baby’s pixie cut attracted men. It was the whole package, plus innate confidence and a Masters degree in body language.
Gretchen knew she was pretty enough. She simply didn’t play up her assets, whatever those were. But surely she had some. And maybe if she accentuated them and didn’t dress like a, well... schoolteacher, all the time, just maybe she could land herself a great guy.
Why should JJ have all the luck in the love department?
“Everything okay?” Alan asked, hands on her shoulders.
Gretchen felt like crying. Maybe it was PMS making her extra emotional but as she stared at herself in the mirror she realized she’d been doing herself a disservice. She’d been existing but not living. She never purchased the outfit she really wanted because it was too expensive or not suitable for a teacher. But the truth was, she could afford to pay more for quality items and she’d never even tried anything on that would be considered revealing. And she was sick of teaching other people’s kids how to tie their shoes when she didn’t have children of her own.
Happy tears threatened and she nodded quickly, ready to feel like a new woman.
“You decide,” she told him. “I want something new. Fresh. Maybe even...” she lifted her gaze to his. “Sexy.”
A slow smile spread across his face and he held a hand over his heart. Staring up at the ceiling as if he was praising God he exclaimed “Finally!”
Gretchen left the salon feeling six inches taller. With a distinctive auburn sheen and a flirty layered look she felt empowered to take control of her life.
Maybe one little haircut, some hair dye and faith in her stylist could make a difference. After dropping off her packages at the post office she realized that the postman had smiled at her and been extra attentive. She’d been going to the same location for the last year and he’d never given her more than a bored “hi.”
When she stopped by the grocery store to stock up on supplies for the week the young check-out clerk even flirted with her. The cashier at the big box store had complimented her new do when she’d stopped to get Greg some sweats and a few T-shirts. Who knew how long he’d be staying with her but he might as well be comfortable. Fred at the tire store had noticed the change in her as well and commiserated about the latest flat. Just as he’d done half a dozen times before, he’d patched up the tire and sent her on her way.
Of course, when she’d stopped to get Greg’s crutches, the woman behind the counter couldn’t have been crabbier. Gretchen smiled and tried to commiserate but she’d left thinking some people should not be in customer service.
But she didn’t let one woman ruin her morning and gave herself a pat on the back.
Spirits thoroughly boosted, she headed for home, mentally going over her to do list. First things first, call JJ. She still hadn’t sent Ronny and Thomas’s phone number. Then Gretchen had a few more orders to pack up that had come in since last night and there was lunch. Who knew changing your hair could make you so hungry? Then maybe she’d tackle her closet and spinster wardrobe. That all of course, depended on Greg.
Cindy’s car was parked at the curb and she seemed to be struggling with a cat carrier in the back seat.
“Hey,” she called after she’d parked her car in the driveway and gotten out.
With a cat carrier in one hand and a canvas tote full of Gizmo’s gear in the other, Cindy met Gretchen on the stoop.
“I love your hair,” Cindy said without so much as a ‘Hi-how-are-you?’
“I never pictured you as a redhead,” Cindy gushed as Gretchen unlocked her front door.
“Greg? We’re here,” she called out as they stepped inside.
“Greg’s still here?” Cindy whispered.
Gretchen nodded as she carried the bags of groceries straight down the hall to the kitchen.
“How’s my favorite kitty? Ready for a visit with Auntie Gretchen?” she asked as Cindy sat the cat carrier down and opened the door. The orange and white cat darted out, paused and looked around as if to make sure she wasn’t at the vet’s office. Gretchen and Cindy shared a quiet laugh.
After quickly putting the perishables away, Gretchen knelt down to welcome her furry guest. A loud, happy purr echoed through the kitchen and the kitty nuzzled Gretchen’s hand. The ‘hello’ was quick and soon Gizmo was strutting into the laundry room. She seemed to recognize her surroundings because she put her tail in the air as she investigated, not the least bit shy or scared.
A thump on the other side of the hall had the three of them pivoting.
“What’s that?” Cindy asked.
Gretchen shook her head and stepped into the hallway. Greg wasn’t on the couch where she’d left him. “He must be in the shower.”
Cindy shot her an unreadable look and Gretchen tried not to think of him further. But knowing he was in the shower made it rather impossible not to think of him naked. Nude with soapy bubbles running down his skin. Warm water clinging to a hard masculine body.
“So.”
“So.” Gretchen wasn’t sure what the protocol for the situation was, but she wondered if he needed help with anything. “I guess I should get the litter box ready. Where are you off to anyway? How long will you be gone?”
“Vegas,” Cindy whispered.
Now the dark circles beneath her friend’s lashes made sense. Ever since Cindy and Adam had broken up she hadn’t been her normal, vivacious self. Gretchen had even tried to get her to go speed dating two weeks ago but Cindy wasn’t the least bit interested.
Gretchen understood the heartache of wanting to be with someone and not being able to. “I bet Adam’s excited about your visit,” she said, pulling the bag of cat litter from Cindy’s canvas tote.
“He doesn’t know I’m coming.”
Gretchen’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not going to tie him to the chair again are you?” When Cindy had first told the story of how she and Adam had met, Gretchen couldn’t believe how... aggressive Cindy had been with her desire. But the plan had worked out in her friend’s favor, initially. But now, half a dozen states separated the lovebirds.
“No. Maybe.” Cindy’s lips twisted in a rueful smile. “Never say never?”
“Well, whatever you do, I hope you two work it out. Don’t worry about Gizmo.”
“I never do. She adores you.”
“How long will you be gone?” Gretchen asked, heading into the hallway. She pulled the small string dangling from the ceiling and a collapsible ladder dropped down.
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe a day, maybe more,” Cindy called as Gretchen climbed the ladder. “That depends on him.”
Dust tickled Gretchen’s nose and she sneezed. Squinting into the darkness, she
saw the blue plastic box and grabbed it before the insulation could wreak havoc on her allergies.
“Catch,” she said handing the litter box down to Cindy.
By the time she got the ladder stowed back into the ceiling Cindy had Gizmo’s litter box ready in the laundry room. The feline ran over to investigate and Cindy took the opportunity to hug her good bye. “You be good.”
“She’ll be fine. You have a safe trip. And keep your chin up, okay?” That’s really all either of them could do. They both wanted things just outside of their reach.
Cindy put on a brave smile and nodded.
“Thanks for taking care of her. See you soon.”
They hugged each other and then Gretchen watched until Cindy’s tail lights disappeared down the street.
She’d just shut the front door when she heard another thump from the bathroom. She ran back to the kitchen but nothing was out of place. Heading down the hall, she told herself she was just checking on him to make sure he was okay. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was naked in her shower or that she hadn’t seen him in four and a half hours.
Really. She could, and had, gone months without seeing him. She would just make sure he was okay.
After knocking on the door she called out “Greg, I’m home.” There was another muffled sound. “Need help?”
The walls were thin but maybe he couldn’t hear her over the shower. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth while she tried to decide what to do. Years ago when her grandmother’s health had been failing, Gretchen had been her caregiver, so she had plenty of experience. But Greg wasn’t family. He certainly wasn’t female.
The door cracked open. “Hey,” he said, sounding exhausted. He leaned heavily against the wall and glanced at her through a grimace.
She grit her teeth, hating that he was in pain. “I’d ask how it’s going but...”
“Stupid idea,” he grunted.
She didn’t need to glance downward to notice the towel he was holding around his waist. When he didn’t open the door wider she decided it was time for him to rest.
“If you’re all finished, I bought you some clothes.”
There was a flicker of something in his eyes and he shook his head once. A small, pained movement.
“Okay, what can I do to help?”
“Nothing,” he ground out. “I should be able to wash my own hair, dammit.”
His good mood from the morning had obviously washed down the drain. She couldn’t remember him cussing before. But that was to be expected. Moodiness. Frustration. Classic symptoms of a horrible accident. Or, in her case, the flu.
“Keep your towel on,” she teased. “I’ll help you, all right? Now, back in the shower with you.”
He stared at her for a long moment before straightening and stepping back into the room. She followed, sighing beneath her breath. The combination of naked man and clean, soap scented air was enough to make a girl drool. She’d known he was built. But―
Body parts. They’re just body parts. Wash the body parts.
They weren’t just body parts. His chest and abs had a healthy glow as if he spent some of his days outside, probably lifting heavy objects, sans shirt. She quickly cataloged all the delicious lean muscle as she offered him a hand so he could step over the rim of the tub.
“Thanks.”
It was then that she realized exactly how much taller he was. She slipped off her flats and then turned the shower head toward the wall before turning on the water. “So Cindy stopped by. If you hear a mini motor boat roaming the house, that’s Gizmo.”
He didn’t reply, which told her his mood was worse than she’d thought. She stepped up onto the edge of the tub and grabbed the shower head wand from its holder.
“When my grandmother got sick I took care of her for the last few months of her life,” she said, hoping the steady stream of babble would take his mind off of whatever demons were attacking him. She tested the temperature of the water. “Tip your head back as far as you can.”
He closed his eyes as he did so. She didn’t miss the sigh that escaped his lips and she hated the pain he was suffering. Hated that he felt anything other than one hundred percent or that he didn’t feel like he could do things himself.
“Her favorite part of the day was when we did her shower,” she continued as she wet his hair. Once that was done, she returned the wand, adjusting it so it wasn’t hitting him in the face. She hopped down and reached for the shampoo bottle on the far side of the tub. Focus on the bottle, not the towel. Not the towel. Not the towel!
“It was pretty remarkable. You know, how much better she felt after a shower. It’d wear off of course, but for an hour or two she’d be relaxed and chipper.” She blinked back the tears as she squirted a blob of shampoo into her palm. Maybe reminiscing wasn’t such a great idea. Especially when she needed to stand on the edge of a wet tub to wash an injured man’s hair.
She smeared her hands together and then gently started massaging the apple scented cleanser into his hair and scalp. Heaven help her. Washing hair shouldn’t be this...erotic. She sucked in a deep breath but that only pulled the various scents into her lungs, delighting her sense of smell.
“There. Now you smell like an apple orchard.” The corners of his mouth quirked up at that.
She rinsed her hands off in the spray and then directed the stream over his head. He sighed, sounding content rather than frustrated. One point for Gretchen.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She studied him as she ran her fingers through his hair, acutely aware of the intimacy of the situation. Her body was on red alert. Tight and coiled in a way it never had been before. What was he thinking?
She’d just rinsed out the last of the suds when he murmured “that feels good.” She wasn’t sure if he meant the scalp massage or the warm water. Either way she felt a bubble of happiness rise inside her. Taking away a little of the pain, a small amount of the angst was all she could ask for right now.
“I’m sure it does. But you’ve been on that leg too long.” After turning off the water and helping him out of the shower she reached for a fresh towel. “So you get your choice of sandwich and soup for lunch, tacos or ravioli.”
He made a noncommittal sound. The happiness bubble popped with a bang. Used to the ups and downs her grandmother had suffered due to dementia, Gretchen rolled with the punches and ran the towel over his head, then down his face and across his shoulders.
“Got it from here?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He didn’t sound too thankful. More like Mr. Grumpy Pants, but that was okay.
“Then I’ll go get your sweats and leave the bag on the door knob.”
As soon as the task was done she went down the hall to the kitchen. But rather than opening the fridge she dropped her face into her hands and asked herself what in the world she was doing.
She wasn’t a nurse and she shouldn’t be taking care of Greg Fairchild. It wasn’t that she minded. He needed help, she was perfectly capable of providing that help. But she knew what a bad idea it was to have him in her house, being close to him, talking to him, touching him. Doing those things only made her want more. Made it harder to move on and find someone else who struck her fancy. And it’d be that much harder when he left.
She needed to get in touch with his brother’s and father, pronto. Surely he could stay with one of them while he recuperated.
9
Greg couldn’t remember ever being in this much pain. His body had taken a beating before. High school sports and two older brothers would do that. But it hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. He was pretty sure that thinking hurt at this point. Which was why he’d thought a shower followed by a nap would be the best medicine.
He’d been oh so wrong.
“Lunch is served,” Gretchen said in that breezy way that lit up the room. She brought out a tray of food and sat it on the ottoman between the couches. “Homemade club sandwich and chicken noodle soup f
rom Harry’s.”
He watched her flit around, fixing pillows, serving him with an easy going demeanor that made him feel like an asshole for being so terse earlier. She’d gone out of her way to take care of him. He could at least try to be more civil.
Why wasn’t she attached? Married?
“Do you want water or Coke?”
“Coke, please.”
“Coke it is.” She cracked open a can and poured it over ice then handed him the glass. “There’s a straw if you want it. Call me weird, but I prefer straws. My mom says I’ve had a hole in my lip since the day I was born.”
There she went again, taking care of him with warmth and ease. But did she have to nibble on her lower lip like that? Despite her humor, he recognized her occasional unease and saw the gesture for what it was. But the move drew attention to her lips, which reminded him how close she’d been in the shower.
The reminder brought back a question he’d been asking himself since she walked into his hospital room yesterday. How did he make her smile? What would it be like to kiss her? And what kind of horn-dog fantasized about a friend who was nursing him back to health.
Greg nodded and focused on the sandwich so he wouldn’t look at those lips. It was time for another pill but for now he ignored the dull pain in his head, the stabbing pain in his shoulders and the general ache in his lower body. Food would help and he was hungry. After hours of tortured thoughts and that frustrating attempt at a shower he was amazed he had any appetite at all, but Gretchen’s food made his mouth water. The scent of bacon mingled with that of the chicken soup. Homey. He had to admit that homey felt extra good right now.
Just like she had before their previous two meals, she pushed the ottoman toward him so he could reach everything. Then she flipped on the TV. Some silly reality show was on so he was pleased when she turned it to another home and garden channel.
“I’ve learned so much from these guys. This place was in bad shape when I got it.”
“I didn’t know you were a do-it-yourselfer.” He remembered the old appliances and mauve paint. The bathroom had obviously been renovated with a new vanity and mirror.
Falling for His Fake Fiancée (Book 2, Girls' Night Trilogy) Page 8
