by Sarah Adams
“No,” I say, daring to run my thumb across the side of her wrist.
“Why?”
I smile. “Because I liked it.”
She swallows and looks skeptical. “You did?”
“Yeah…I did.”
I like that Lucy wears her thoughts and emotions on her face so openly that I can always know what’s going through her head. I like that she was so nervous to see me again she ducked down and hid behind a cart. Who does that? And I love that she smiles when she runs her fingers through my hair. The list of reasons why I like Lucy Marshall seems to grow every time I’m around her.
Basically, I’m in so much trouble.
Our spell is broken when Lucy’s phone starts buzzing on her station. She peeks at it then looks at me with a sheepish smile. “It’s my son FaceTiming me. Do you mind if I answer really quick? I haven’t gotten to talk to him all day.”
“Of course not. Go right ahead.”
Lucy positions her phone in front of her face, pulls a wide smile over her pink lips, and then swipes to answer the call. I can tell the moment the picture connects, because her face beams. “Hi, baby!”
“Hi, Mom!” That must be Levi. “Grammy wants to know if you’re coming to get me soooooooon.”
Lucy laughs. “Honey, you’ve got to pull the phone away from your nose so I can see you. There! Wait. Ah—no, don’t spin!”
I can hear her little boy cackling like a villain as he, apparently, spins with the phone. Lucy contorts her face to look as if she’s on the world’s most intense ride and the g-force is too much to handle. I’m mesmerized. I don’t want to look away for even a second. I haven’t been ready to pursue a serious relationship again since Janie, and honestly, commitment has been all too easy to avoid. Every woman I’ve met lately seems nice but completely forgettable to me.
That is, until Lucy. She’s incredible, and seeing her here, talking to her son and making him laugh with her ridiculous faces, not giving a crap about what anyone else in this salon thinks…it’s taking me from attraction to full-blown crush. Like I might leave here and research cheesy putt-putt golf places because, somehow, I get the feeling she’d actually enjoy going and wouldn’t pretend to be too cool for it. She might even want to bring Levi—and I’d want her to because I think it would be really fun to see her with him.
Gosh, I need to have a conversation with Drew. Man to man, complete intentions laid out on the table between us. That’s the only way I would ever pursue something with his sister. The problem is, I don’t know if she’s ready for that yet after her breakup and move. And she has a son, which means I need to proceed with even more caution and know my own feelings are for sure before I approach Lucy about it. I’m not too stupid to know a woman like her comes along once in a lifetime, though, so I don’t plan on dragging my feet. What do you do when you’re not in love with someone yet, but can feel the potential for it, but also can’t date her because she’s definitely commitment material and her brother might murder you?
Friends.
Bleh. I hate that word. But it’s my only option right now.
“Honey, I’m home!” I shout into the house the moment I step inside.
I kick off my shoes and groan because I feel like Cinderella’s evil stepsister if she had actually shoved her big fat feet in those glass slippers then wore them all day while hairdressing. Note to self: work shoes should not be found on the five-dollar sale rack. Lesson learned. Moving on.
“Hey! I’m in here,” Drew calls from the living room.
I make my way down the little entry hall and peek my head around the corner. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, playing a video game. How is it even fair that grown men are allowed to still play video games, but if he walked in on me playing with my old Barbies, he would send me to therapy?
“Did you get off work early today?”
“Yeah, my last patient canceled. Where’s Levi?”
“He’s at Mom and Dad’s tonight. I was planning on getting him after work, but when I called to say I was on my way, he asked if he could spend the night instead.” The poor kid missed his grandparents so much while we were in Georgia, and I think he’s trying to make up for lost time by spending every waking moment with them, which is honestly okay with me. I’ve barely had any help over the past year, so even though I’ve been working full time at the salon these past two weeks, I feel like a shriveled-up, half-dead plant that’s being watered and fertilized. Well…watered at least. Still single over here, so no fertilizing happening yet.
“Okay, well, have fun playing that little twelve-year-old boy’s game. I’m going to go grab a shower because I basically cut a mop off someone’s head today, and I think 90% of it is somehow stuck in my underwear.”
“Do you overshare like this with everyone or just me?”
“I save it all up just for you, big brother!” I say, heading toward the stairs with the intent to shower, dress myself in my comfiest PJs, and then crash into my pillow for the rest of the night.
Drew calls out before I leave the room, “Hey, you want to get a pizza and rent a movie tonight?”
I smile to myself because if teenage me—the one whose older brother was embarrassed to be seen with her and always put up a fuss if asked to drive her anywhere—could see grown-up me now, best friends with that same brother, she’d never believe it. “I want to, but I’m so tired I don’t think I can. I plan on getting under my covers and finding a way to have Chinese food delivered right to my bed.”
His eyes leave the screen for the first time to shoot me a reprimanding look. “Not really, right? That’s super unsafe.”
I take off my smelly sock and throw it at him. “No, I’m not serious! Gosh, what do you think I am? Five years old?”
He chuckles and turns his eyes back to the TV. “Says the woman who just threw a sock at me and has her toenails painted in a rainbow pattern.”
“Thank you for noticing. Now, leave me alone. I’m going to take my shower.”
“Wait! Want me to order a pizza? I’ll even deliver it to your bed.”
“Awww, now I see why the ladies love you. Pepperoni please,” I call back to him as I make my way up the stairs.
When I lay my phone on the bathroom counter, it lights up with a text, which effectively lights up my whole body.
Cooper: What are you doing tonight?
Did I mention this is part of the reason I’m so exhausted today? After Cooper left the salon yesterday (with a fantastic new haircut, I might add), he texted me about how much he liked the cut, and then we continued to text until 1:30 in the morning. I kept expecting to get one of those awful ending-the-conversation texts, like Well, it’s been nice chatting! but it never came. We texted until I accidentally fell asleep and woke up to my cheek mashed against my phone’s screen, the letter P typed at least two hundred times into the text box.
It was a great talk with Cooper, though. He told me about his job (he works as the senior brand manager at a marketing agency called Hampton Creative) and how he moved here from Charlotte last year to take the position he has now. I asked him if doing what he does in marketing is his passion and if that’s why he was willing to move for the job, but he just replied: Eh. It’s a job. I like it, but it’s never going to be what fulfills me. It was just a convenient reason to leave town.
There was so much loaded in that last sentence, but I didn’t dive into it because I felt like he would have offered up the can of worms if he felt like it. Still, as someone who knows all too well what it’s like to need a convenient reason to leave town, I can spot a tragic life story from a mile away. I also know what it’s like to not want to talk about it.
So, I moved on and told him about how my mom was a hairdresser before she retired, and how she let me help her put in a full foil highlight on her friend’s hair in our kitchen when I was only ten. Hairdressing always seemed like the logical path to take since it was something I knew I was good at, and thankfully, I’ve enjoyed it more and more every
year. I feel sort of similar to Cooper—it’s a job I like, but it will never be what fills me up, and I’m okay with that. I don’t think everyone is meant to have careers that change the world. Sometimes you’ve just gotta pay the bills and then clock out so you can get to the life you love the most, which, for me, is being with Levi.
After our night of back-and-forth texts, Cooper and I feel like friends. Friends who talk about TV shows and hobbies and crack jokes. I know things about him, beyond the shade of his eyes and what he wears to work, and somehow that makes me feel powerful. It also lets me see that I think I misjudged him slightly when I first met him. It’s not so much that Cooper’s a flirt as he is just fun and engaging. Drew had talked him up as a real player, someone who should not be trusted, but I don’t get those vibes from him—especially not when he texts me pictures of watching Wheel of Fortune and brags about how quickly he can solve the puzzle.
I bite the corner of my mouth and re-read Cooper’s message, wondering what a sexy woman of the world would reply. Probably something like Wouldn’t you like to know… with a winky face emoji and fireworks or something else equally elusive that leads you to believe it’s an innuendo. But we all know I can’t pull off a text like that, nor would anyone believe I’m up to anything innuendo-related, so I just respond honestly.
Lucy: Putting on comfy pjs and being lazy at home. You?
I turn on the shower and wait for it to heat up while I stare at my phone, willing his response to come through quickly. Almost instantly, I see that wonderful little dot-dot-dot icon appear, and I bounce on the balls of my feet, waiting for the text. But then the dots disappear. And then reappear. And then disappear again. This time, they don’t reappear, and my heart drops. He must have gotten busy…
My shoulders slump, and I set my phone face down, trying to convince myself that I don’t even care if he texts me back or not. But that’s not true, is it? Because now I’m placing my palms on the countertop and staring at myself in the mirror, wondering what Cooper sees when he looks at me. I’m wearing a loose side braid and a light-pink jersey knit dress. I have bronzer on my cheeks and mascara on my lashes, but that’s it. Does he think I look like a child compared to the women he’s used to? I saw Bailey—too much of Bailey, actually—and she and I have nothing in common.
I put my hands on my boobs and squish them up, looking at myself from every angle, and then let them drop again with a sigh. The only words that come to mind are plain and mediocre. If I were a color, I’d be beige. There’s nothing exciting about beige. If everything Drew implies about Cooper is true, I’m sure he’s used to red, turquoise, and chartreuse.
When I start to feel antsy about Cooper still not texting me back, I decide to suspend my self-scrutinizing and shed my clothes. I shower off, exfoliating and scrubbing other people’s gross hair off my body until I smell like a Hawaiian flower. I pull on a pair of gray joggers, a sports bra, and a black tank top, and that’s that. I’ve officially completed my not-going-anywhere-for-the-night look.
I check my phone, registering that there are no new notifications because Cooper never bothered to text me back. That’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t care. This is me officially giving up on anything concerning Cooper James. He’s probably getting showered (Do not think about Cooper in the shower) and dressing himself to the nines so he can go clubbing with a woman in a slinky little dress right now. She’ll be all coy smiles and tantalizing hair flips and brushing her fingers across his biceps, and Cooper will lavish her with flirts and attention all night.
And now I’m the most jealous human being on the face of the earth. I’m almost certain my skin is turning green.
I throw my head over and wind my hair up in a towel, deciding I need to get out of my head before I do something stupid, like track Cooper down and stalk him with binoculars all night. What I need is some music.
Going to my room, I put in my earbuds and turn on one of Ariana Grande’s old albums. I like to think I’m a great dancer, which is exactly why I never dance anywhere besides alone in my room where no one can point out the falsehood of that statement.
For three whole minutes, I tune out the rest of the world and move. I twerk. I shimmy. I throw my hands over my head and roll my body, pretending I’m Beyoncè and have just stepped into a club to give everyone a surprise performance. I know all this fierceness is a lot to handle, boys, but you’re going to have to try to contain yourselves. Saying it feels great to let loose is an understatement. I feel free. I feel like laughing at myself… I feel someone watching me.
Whipping around, I find Cooper (COOPER!) leaning against my doorframe, top two buttons of his dress shirt undone, grinning devilishly with a pizza box in his hands.
I rip out my earbuds and chuck them to the other side of the room like maybe that will convince him I wasn’t just doing what he saw me doing. His smile only grows, and he gently lifts the box a little higher. “Someone order a pizza?”
My cheeks are melting off my face. “What…what are you doing here?!”
He ignores my question (mainly because the answer is clearly in his hands; he moonlights as a pizza delivery man) and, instead, nods toward me, his eyes grazing from my head to my toes and back up again. “I like that move you did.”
“Which move?” I ask, sounding pained and definitely like I’m dreading his answer, but also hopeful that maybe I looked like Shakira that whole time and not a member of the Wiggles like I suspect.
“Where you kinda shook your butt but also did that jumping thing. And I like your twisty towel thing up there too.” Oh good gracious, someone please push me out of my window.
I groan and shove my face into my hands, contemplating if I’d rather move to Mexico or Alaska. Both would accomplish the goal of never having to face Cooper again. “No! Why do embarrassing things keep happening to me around you? Please forget you ever saw any of that.”
He’s chuckling now, so pleased with himself for witnessing this moment. “Why? I don’t want to forget it—it was cute.”
Cute?! I’m a 29-year-old woman! I’m not supposed to be cute when dancing to sexy music in my room.
“Just stop,” I say, crossing the room, planting my hands on his chest, and pushing him out. Except, this is making it worse because I can feel his taut muscles under his crisp button-down shirt, taunting me. “Go. Out. Now.”
Cooper’s laugh tickles every nerve ending in my body as he half-heartedly resists my attempted shoving. “Why? I was liking the show.”
“Well, the cute show is over now, so you’ll have to go watch some bunnies in sunglasses or something to get your fix.” I mean to say it as a joke, but my words come out with a little too much acid slathered in an extra helping of bitterness.
His smile fades, and he hits the brakes, letting me know the only reason he was budging before was because he was allowing it. Now, he’s a stone statue, staring down at me with searching eyes. “Wait, did I upset you?”
I fix my gaze on his chest and continue my attempt to move this mountain so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “What? No! Ha! Of course not. Not me. I don’t get upset.”
“I did. I totally did. I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Like I said, I thought it was—”
“Ohmygosh, if you say cute one more time, I’m going to shove your face into that pizza.” And someone please get this dumb towel off my head!
I tear it off in one swooping movement and spin around to retreat into my room. I will barricade this door and fashion a makeshift delivery basket out my window for sustenance and supplies. Mark my words, I will never look at Cooper again.
Except, he shifts the pizza to one hand and catches hold of my hand with the other. He tugs me back in a sort of Dancing with the Stars move, and I bump into his chest. I’m so close to him now I can smell the mint gum on his breath when he asks, “Is that what made you mad? That I called you cute?” His dark-blond brows are pulled together, and I’m surprised to see the happy-go-lucky beach boy can look stern…
severe…heart-palpitatingly masculine.
My only response is a shrug and forced swallow.
I watch his Adam’s apple go up and down, and suddenly, this hallway feels like a teeny tiny thimble. “See, the problem is, I can’t take it back, because it was cute.” Yeah, yeah, I get it. You think I’m a cutie patootie. But then his voice drops to a husky whisper, and his thumb rubs a subtle path across the back of my hand. “So damn cute.”
Oh.
Okay.
I’ve definitely never heard the word cute sound quite like that before—with a rumble and such delicious undertones it makes me think he has a different definition of the word than I do. I swallow and raise my gaze to meet his. Those Tahitian-water eyes are smoldering, like blue fire when the flame is so hot it’s lethal.
“Lucy…”
“Coop!” Drew yells from somewhere downstairs, making us both startle. “Did you find Lucy?”
Cooper holds my gaze, ignoring my brother. “Why don’t you want to be called cute?”
I look down the hall, afraid Drew will surface at any minute and see Cooper tenderly holding my wrist—and then chop it off with a samurai sword. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something, and I want to know what it is.” The decisive punctuation of each word tells me he will stay here all night holding me like this if I don’t tell him the truth.
“Cooper!” Drew calls again, and my heart starts doing jumping jacks.
My gaze bounces between the hallway and Cooper, and I know I have no choice. “Cute is what I’ve always been called, and lately, I’ve been tired of it. Somehow, Drew gets to be exciting and adventurous and successful, and I’m usually just tired with a patch of something sticky on my shirt from my four-year-old.” I shake my head, feeling like I’m not really explaining it right. I’m only starting to grasp the way I feel myself, so it’s hard to put it into words. “I mean…I’m only twenty-nine years old, for goodness’ sake, and sometimes I feel…ugh. I don’t know. I just haven’t wanted to feel cute.”
