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“You know what? Skylar could cut your hair if you want. She’s done mine plenty of times, so you’re in good hands if you’re still up for it.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I quickly interject, not liking the alternative solution she came up with.
“Nonsense.” My mom grins widely, dismissing my hesitation. “You can do it, Skylar. I know you can.”
“What can Skylar do?” Curt questions absentmindedly when he steps back onto the porch with my mom’s coat in hand.
“I was just saying that Skylar could be the one who gives Noah a little trim if he wants one,” she explains while she lets her husband help her put her coat on.
“Maybe the boy should go to a barber like he said,” Curt adds his two cents, not liking the idea of having me anywhere near his son with sharp objects.
Not that I’m surprised.
Curt and Noah might have a difficult relationship, but no father wants to see his son hurt. He probably thinks I’d cut Noah on purpose. Even I have to admit that the idea is oddly appealing. Especially with how Noah was making my mom feel less than not a second ago. A little nick won’t kill him, but it sure as hell will make him think twice before he acts like a dipshit to my mom again on my watch.
“Actually, I’m up for it if Noah is,” I say a little too eagerly, surprising everyone.
Noah runs his thumb over his lower lip, looking intrigued. He then surprises us all when he offers a clipped nod in consent.
“There. It’s settled,” my mom quips with a pleased smile, stretching her hand out with the pair of scissors to me.
I stand up from my seat and walk over to grab them from her and then turn to Noah, who is still staring at me like he’s trying to unravel what my game plan is.
“Well? Have a seat.” I pat the chair.
He rolls his tongue over his front teeth before standing up and taking the seat in front of me.
“Brilliant,” my mom coos, satisfied with the scene. “We shouldn’t be long, unless, of course, Mr. Henderson’s injuries are more severe than his wife led me to believe. I’ll call you either way, Skylar.”
Noah and I both stay silent as we watch our parents get into the truck and pull out in the direction of the Hendersons’ home.
“So? Are we going to do this or what?” Noah grunts, looking suddenly uncomfortable with sitting helplessly while I have a weapon in my hands.
I lean down to his ear, and smile when a shudder runs through his spine with just my breath fanning his neck.
“So eager,” I mock. “You didn’t look so enthusiastic a few seconds ago.”
He tilts his head to the side, my breath catching in my throat with how close his lips are suddenly next to mine.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you know every little thing about me. Even what thoughts run through my head. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself.”
“I know enough.” I frown, straightening up.
“Sure you do.” He smirks, turning his face away from me. “Keep thinking that.”
I square my shoulders and start combing his long hair, trying desperately not to marvel at how soft and silky it feels between my fingers.
“How short of a trim do you want it? An inch? Two?” I ask with as little emotion as I can.
“Cut it all off.”
“What?!” I blurt in outrage, taking a step back, offended he would suggest such a thing as cutting off such beautiful hair. “You’re kidding, right?”
He shakes his head, not looking at me.
“This is a joke. You can’t be serious,” I continue to protest.
“It’s time,” he deadpans, steel resolve in his tone.
