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“Let me,” he says. Our fingers brush. and I swallow.
“You had a lot of hair,” I say, walking to the table and zipping up my kit. Once we’re cleaned up, Jackson inspects his haircut one last time. I catch a hint of a smile.
“You did a great job. Thank you.” He opens his arms, and I’m taken back. We haven’t hugged before, ever, and now he’s asking for one.
I don’t turn down hugs. Especially from handsome men.
Walking into his embrace, I’m swallowed by him. My cheek presses against his broad chest as he sways side-to-side with me in his arms. My arms sit on his waist as he kisses the top of my head, and I almost crumble in a pile.
He’s hugging me because we’re friends. Nothing more.
This is exactly what happened with Mark. I saw things that weren’t there. Jackson still loves his wife. He hasn’t spoken about her since that day in October, but I know she is still in his heart and his thoughts.
Jackson holds me so tightly, I can’t pull away. This is a hug of close friends. Nothing more.
I don’t want to pull away, but I do.
His fingertips trail down my arm, and I hold my breath.
“Thanks again,” he says, and he finally takes his hand away. “I love it.”
“I’m glad,” I say. Crossing my arms, I try to create a mental barrier as well, but it doesn’t work.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “For Thanksgiving.”
Oh good, he’s going. That means he’s doing better. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Don’t tell anyone that you were the one to do my hair. Just pretend like you’re seeing it for the first time. I’m not in the mood for… speculation.”
“You got it,” I say, pointing a finger gun. Why am I such a nerd?
“Bye, Shiloh,” he says. I half-expect him to go for a goodbye hug, but he doesn’t. He just stands at the top of the stairs as I leave.
Once I’m in my car, I wipe my forehead.
“Oh my God,” I say, shaking my hands.
17
Jackson
Ihear a knock in the middle of my morning coffee and reading time. Shiloh mentioned once on one of our walks that she always starts her day with thirty minutes of reading her current book with coffee and I thought it would be a good habit, so I started doing it. It’s now something to look forward to and I’ve been getting up earlier than usual to get it in.
Tucking my bookmark into my spot, I stand up and walk to my door, opening it to find my mother.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” she says brightly, walking past me without an invitation. I don’t say anything because she does own the place. She covers her mouth in shock. “Oh my God, Jackson, you cut your hair!”
“Do you like it?” I shake it, and it feels odd. Light.
She touches the short part and I let her, turning around so she can see the full look. Shiloh did an amazing job. For someone with no formal training, I’m impressed.
“The long hair was bugging me.”
She covers her mouth again, and I see her nose scrunch. Tears are imminent. I roll my eyes.
“What, Mom?”
“The last time your hair was that short was right when Amy…”
