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The top of her head reaches my chest. She tilts her face up to meet my gaze, her blond hair glinting in the sunlight streaming through the big windows at the front of her barbershop.
“Hi,” I say, like a lump.
“Hi,” she replies. Red sweeps over her cheeks, and she clears her throat. “Thank you for what you did in the apartment, Des. It’s more than I ever expected.”
“Everything I did needed to be done.” I shrug.
Mia gives me a wry smile. We both know I’m lying. I spent twelve hours a day nearly every day in that apartment, fixing up everything that I could see. I spent my own money on the renovations, not wanting to dip into my grandparents’ property management funds for something that wasn’t precisely necessary.
It was necessary for Mia, though. For her to have a home—and for me to make amends.
“Can I help you with anything?” Mia finally says, wrapping up old fake cobwebs into a ball and ducking past me to shove them into a box full of other decorations.
“I was hoping for a shave,” I say.
Mia pauses, straightens, and finally gives me a bland, professional smile. “Sure. Take a seat.”
The dance begins. A cape is swept over my shoulders, each snap clicked into place at the nape of my neck. Her hands flick the black fabric to straighten it out, and she meets my gaze in the mirror. Hot towel, shaving cream, razor. Mia works with practiced efficiency, skillful and quick.
When she’s got the skin of my cheek pulled taut and is shaving down with the grain, she speaks. “I wanted to ask you something, actually.”
“Mm?” My eyes are closed, but I crack them open a slit to watch Mia’s face in the mirror.
She’s focused on my face, her movements sharp, but there’s a tension in her shoulders I don’t like. I open my eyes fully.
She pulls away to clean the razor, then meets my gaze. “Do you still need a date for Thanksgiving?”
My heart bangs against my ribs so hard I think she might hear it. I nod. “Yeah.”
Her chin lifts. “I’m prepared to consider it,” she says. “But half off my rent for one month isn’t good enough.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Oh? What do you propose?”
Mia’s jaw clenches. She looks determined, defiant. With me sitting and her standing, she’s still only slightly taller than I am, but she meets my gaze with a steady, steely expression on her face.
I can’t live without this woman. As long as I’m in the same town as her, in the same state, the same country, I’ll find my way back to her. How could I possibly resist coming into her barbershop every week?
“I need more information,” she finally says. “Why do you need a date? What’s the big deal? Do I need to pretend to be in a relationship with you? Pretend to like you?”
That makes me laugh. “I mean…yeah. You’d have to at leasttryto hide your hatred of me.”
The corner of her lips twitch, and I almost want to do a victory dance. This is the most relaxed she’s been with me since the date. Finally, Mia lifts her chin. “Unfortunately, how much I like you—or don’t—is outside my control.”
I chuckle again, unable to keep my eyes off her. I want to kiss her again. Desperately. To feel her soften against me the way she did in the Dolce Vita parking lot.
“So?” she asks. “Why do you need a date so badly?”
I click my tongue, tilting my head to the side. “It’s going to sound ridiculous.”
“Try me.”
I gulp, suddenly nervous. It’s one thing to ask for a date, but to admit that I need one because I want to beat my adoptive brother at a stupid race?
“We have this family tradition,” I say. “It’s been going for a few generations.”
Mia shifts all her weight to one leg, causing her hip to round. She tilts her head, listening.
“Every Thanksgiving, before we eat, we have a race.”
