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Cora popped back in wearing jeans and a tee not a minute later. “Okay, I’m ready. Are you?”
“SHE’LL BE RIGHT down,” Dare said, walking back into the kitchen. Bunny stood at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee, while her friend Joan set up a makeshift shop on the kitchen table. Two towels lay over the back of a chair pulled out into the middle of the floor.
“Don’t worry, Dare. Joan’s great. So good she’s usually booked weeks ahead of time. She’ll take care of Haven,” Bunny said.
Dare nodded, though he didn’t care if Joan was the best hair stylist who ever lived. None of that would make a difference to Haven if she really didn’t want this done. Despite how much sense Phoenix’s words made back in Church, for right that moment, Dare didn’t feel that much different from her father. Or, at least, he feared that she’d feel that way. And he wouldn’t blame her.
A few minutes later, Haven and Cora came in. Haven’s face was scrubbed clean and her hair was a little messy from sleep, but she was showing the most skin he’d ever seen in a skimpy pink tank top—well, except for when he’d found her in bed wearing nothing but a men’s white T-shirt. Without even trying, she’d looked sexy as fuck, making him wish he’d been there for a totally different reason.
“Ah, Haven, this is my friend Joan.” Bunny made introductions and the women exchanged greetings, Haven shaking the older lady’s hand.
“Have a seat, hon,” Joan said, tucking the side of what Dare supposed was a stylish cut behind her ear. “And tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, well.” Haven slid into the chair, looking small and even a bit fragile. She had a way of doing that, suddenly shrinking into herself as if to make a smaller target, or to blend into the background. “Mostly, just different,” she said. And that was the moment Dare knew she wanted no part of this. Because what woman didn’t know exactly what she wanted done to her hair?
“Stop,” Dare said. “You don’t have to do this.”
Frowning, Haven peered up at him. “Yes, I do.” She turned to Joan. “Shorter. Maybe up to here,” she said, holding her hand flat against the top of her biceps to mark an invisible line.
Joan unwound the band holding the length of Haven’s hair in a braid. “Do you want any color?”
“Uh.” She glanced to Cora. “Maybe . . . maybe I do. But I don’t know much about it.”
Haven was doing exactly what he told her to do, and he hated it. He shoved off the counter and stalked out of the kitchen, through the clubhouse, and into the rec room. A few guys playing pool called out a greeting, but Dare only had eyes for the bar, where he grabbed a glass and poured himself some whiskey. He tossed it back, savoring the burn, and then poured some more.
Fuck, what was he doing? If she was going to suffer through having the change made, then he sure as shit could man up and sit with her while it happened. Whiskey in hand, he returned to the kitchen.
“I don’t think we should go too dark because of how fair you are,” Joan was saying. “But a light brown would give you a change without washing you out. We could even do some low lights to give it more depth. And brown would be so pretty with those gorgeous blue eyes.”
Gorgeous blue eyes which held so much uncertainty. But Haven pushed through whatever doubts she had, because she agreed to Joan’s suggestions and watched as the woman set about mixing solutions in small bowls with brushes. Finally, Joan wrapped a towel around Haven’s shoulders and clipped it together in front of her throat.
“All ready, hon?” she asked Haven with a smile.
Haven’s gaze went to Cora again, and the other woman gave her a small nod. Licking her lips, Haven glanced to him. “Wait. Can I have a drink of that?”
“The whiskey?” Dare asked, lifting the glass.
She nodded and accepted the tumbler into her hand. Tipping the crystal to her lips, she took a long enough drink that she almost emptied the glass. “Okay,” she said, passing it back to Dare. “Let’s do this.”
Fucking hell. He emptied the glass and tried not to think about the fact that it’d just been between her lips.
“You’re cutting off so much length, you should consider donating the hair to one of the organizations that uses it to make wigs for cancer patients. I could take care of that for you if you like,” Joan said, sectioning the long lengths into small ponytails and wrapping them in rubber bands.
“People do that?” Haven asked, her eyes going wide. “Because I would love to do that.”
“Oh, yeah,” Joan said. “You’re a great candidate for that with all this beautiful hair.”
