"That explains a lot, actually."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing bad." I hold up my hands. "Just... you've got that energy. The'I've kept multiple humans alive'energy."
She thinks hard, then nods. "I suppose that's fair."
We keep walking and talking, with Zoey telling me stories about her sibling rivalries, which apparently still happen between her brothers today. The stories are endless, but soon, the supply store comes into view at the end of the block.
Zoey shakes the list in her hand loose again, refreshing her memory as she moves toward the store entrance.
But I catch her arm gently before she can go inside.
"Actually..." I take a breath, nervous as hell. Zoey turns, eyebrows raised. "There's something else we need to do first."
Her eyes narrow with suspicion as I steer her gently past the supply store entrance and down the sidewalk.
"Colt, what are you—"
"Just trust me."
This had better go smoothly.
Two doors down, I stop in front of a window where a hot pink sign readsSHEAR TROUBLEin bold cursive letters, with a pair of scissors split around the words.
Through the window, I can see Debbie Williams arranging her station, her stylish blonde hair looking immaculate as always. A Taylor Swift song is drifting through the door, something about her being the problem.
Zoey has stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring up at the sign like it might bite her.
"Colt..." She turns to me, confusion written across every gorgeous feature. "What are we doing here?"
I take a breath, steadying myself for the surprise I've been working on all damn day.
"Okay, don't freak out but… I made you an appointment." The words come out in a rush. "Hair, nails, the whole thing. Debbie's got you booked for the next three hours. Full highlights if you want them, or just a trim." She goes to open her mouth, but I keep going. "Or!One of those scalp massage things that apparently feel like angels are touching your brain. Plus a manicure, pedicure, the works. And if you mention that Harold sent you… which technically he didn't, I did, but Debbie doesn't need to know that… she'll break out the good champagne. Not the stuff she gives the hockey wives. Thesecretstuff from themini-fridge in her office. Trust me, I've seen it. It's French. The bubbles are smaller, which absolutely matters."
I pause for breath, realizing I'm gesturing wildly with both hands like I'm conducting an orchestra of beauty treatments.
Zoey just stands there and listens to my dribble before saying, "You done?"
"Not quite. I also heard there's a hot towel situation involved at some point. I don't know the full details, but it sounds nice." I draw a dramatic breath, clutching my chest. "Okay. Now I'm done."
She stares at me, then looks into the window.
"This is some kind of joke, right? A Colt Lane locker room prank."
"Nope."
"Colt, I can't—" She's already shaking her head, backing away from the door. "I have to get these supplies. I have to pick up Morgan. I have to—"
I snap the supply list from her hands. "Already handled. All you need is to get pampered."
I pull out my phone, showing her the group chat I used to get this all worked out in one morning, all while simultaneously working with some very tricky tongs in the display case at Butter Batch.
"Harold's watching the bakery. Supplies are now onmylist. I'll grab them and bring them back. And Morgan..."
I hesitate, suddenly nervous.
Because this is the part that could go wrong. The part where I've overstepped, assumed too much, inserted myself into her life in a way she never asked for.
