AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Come on.” There’s a giant knot in my hair, around shoulder length. “Comeon, you bastard.” I shampoo it again and again, but if anything it gets more snarled, until I’m panting with fatigue and so freaking over this already. “Right. Screw this.”
I dunk my head, washing away the shampoo suds and tears.
Water sloshes as I stand, swilling up the sides of the tub. Good thing I only filled it halfway, else there’d have been a tidal wave on Mac’s bathroom floor.
The fluffy bath mat is soft beneath my feet, and drips course down my body. I snatch up the navy towel Mac left me, but in my sudden blind rage, the clothes stay behind.
The cottage staircase is loud, the wood screeching with every step. I huff and puff my way into the kitchen, the towel wrapped tight around my body.
Mac looks up from his kitchen table, a cookbook spread over the scrubbed wood. His eyes go wide.
“Scissors,” I say, heat climbing my throat, but it’s too late to run out of here now. Might as well see this crazy train into the station. “Please tell me you have scissors.”
Wordlessly, Mac points at a drawer. It rattles as I yank it open, and I sift past a bottle opener, a garlic press, and one of those lemon zest doohickeys before snatching up a pair of scissors. They glint as I hold them up in triumph.
“Be right back.”
My wet feet slap against the tiles, then creak back up the stairs.
Twenty minutes later, I tiptoe back into the kitchen, all my bravado long gone. I’m swaddled in a pair of men’s black sweatpants and one of Mac’s gray sweatshirts, the clothes drowning my frame. My hair is cut into a choppy, uneven bob.
“Um.” The drawer sticks when I open it this time, and I shake it to knock the utensils loose. “I cleaned the scissors, and put the cut hair in the bathroom trash can. Thank you.”
My face is burning. I must look like such an idiot. God, why did I do this?
It’s like all the stress and fear rose up in one go, choking off my good sense, and I did the first impulsive thing I could think of. Now my head feels weirdly light, and I look even younger and scruffier, and Mac is probably wishing he never took me in.
When I catch a glimpse of myself in the shiny refrigerator door, I want to sob.
“Cocoa.” The harbor master’s deep voice is soothing. Gentle. I sniffle, wiping my eyes on my wrist.
Am I always such a crybaby? Or just when I’ve had some mysterious near-death experience, lost my memory, then cut off all my hair in a panic? That’s fair, right? Most people would probably go a bit nuts after today.
“Cocoa,” he says again. “Come here.”
This time, his tone brooks no argument. Mac pats his thigh—and man, rockets have moved slower than me. I’m over there in a flash, perched on his strong lap, looping my arms around his neck.
He’s so solid. Sturdy.
If this is weird, he doesn’t comment on it. Mac tugs gently on a lock of my hair, and says: “Pretty.”
That’s it. Just one word.
One word, and the sun comes back out. The residual panic and shame drain away, replaced by his warmth and strength; by the steady regard of his gray eyes.
I breathe out, nice and slow. My feet kick in the empty air, bundled up in a thick pair of men’s hiking socks, and I feel so tiny and cute when he holds me like this. Safe and treasured.
This is nuts.
Reallynuts.
But maybe I don’t care. Maybe I can’t afford to care. As of this morning, this man is the center of my universe.
The corner of his mouth lifts when I pet his beard. His arms tighten around me, and I’m so fizzy and sparkly inside. Trauma? What trauma? I’mfine.
“You’re gonna be a handful, huh?”
Lord, I hope so. I hope Ifillhis hands, and give him plenty to grip and squeeze. I hope I’m everything the harbor master craves and more. Want to please him so badly.
