Only, he was watching her with equal intensity, and she knew why.
The hair.
Later she jumped into the shower and distracted him—quite capably—delighting in her hair getting a little wet. Tomorrow morning, her usual bed head and tufts would be back.
After kissing him awake and having some fun time in bed, she charged into the bathroom, excited to see her old friend: bad hair.
But she froze in front of the mirror and gaped. There it was. Her perfect hair. As much a work of art as it had been yesterday.
Okay, she was now officially in an alternate universe.
No amount of mussing it returned it to its normal disarray,and by the time breakfast rolled around, she was feeling jangly about it, like she’d had too much caffeine. She wanted to text Brooke a photo and askIs this normal?,but her friend would die laughing. Oh, wait! She and the rest of their friends were going to see it later at family dinner.
Maybe she could start coughing or something, weasel out of it.
Then she wanted to threaten herself with her own cleaver because she was acting like a chicken again and she was done with that.
She contemplated her situation as she tore apart a croissant. Madison Garcia did not have perfect hair. It completely ruined the image she had of herself, the one she projected to the world. A badass did not have Parisian chic hair.
Kyle reached for her hand, prompting her to hold out her croissant. “You want a piece?”
“No, I thought you might share what’s on your mind,” he only said easily, too easily.
She shook her head with her nose scrunching up. “Nope. You?”
He kissed her hand, a gesture that always made her eyes widen. “You still seem a little uptight. I clearly didn’t do a good enough job in the shower.”
Her snort was immediate. “If you had done better, the neighbors might have called the police.”
“Then what’s bothering you?” he pressed, folding his hands in his lap. “And don’t tell me something isn’t when I know it is.”
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “It’s mortifying.”
“We’ve had embarrassing conversations before and made it through.”
She nearly knocked over the vase of flowers on the table when she gestured between them. “I’m not talking about you and me.”
He slid his chair out and patted his lap. “Come over here and tell me all about it.”
She didn’t budge. Lifting an eyebrow, she said, “Are you living your version of Santa Claus? Is this a missed fantasy for you? We can get you a suit.”
“Madison.”
“Fine!” She touched the ends of her hair. “It’s my hair! And don’t tell me your jaw didn’t drop open like a seagull when I didn’t wake up looking like the bride of Frankenstein this morning. My hair was almost as perfect as yours! We have family dinner today, and I just know people are going to notice and say something.”
He was clearly biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “One, Frankenstein is the last person I think of when I wake up with you. Two, yes, I noticed, but since your appearance was on the rules list, I didn’t say anything before. The cut looks great, but I’m more interested in how it came about.”
“Brooke talked me into it.” She nearly spat the words out. “That sounds like I blame her, but she delivered on her end. She found someone who could do it while I worked.”
“Never underestimate Brooke.”
“I’d forgotten apparently,” she grimaced, tearing at the pastry. “But the whole appointment blew my mind when he came yesterday. The guy didn’t dunk my head under a sink and give me some freaky scalp massage like he was playing theitsy bitsy spideron my head. He cut it using some Japanese dry-cutting technique, and in liketen minutes.Then he cleaned up and left.”
Fighting laughter, he reached for his orange juice. “Efficient.”
“And perfect! I mean, if I didn’t know my hair was attached to my head, I’d swear I was wearing some fancy wig like you see in South Beach.”
“Oh, Madison, I love you.”
