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He rolls his eyes. “Please.” Turning to me, he grins. “We went to the arcade. She’s not bad at driving games. Though I wouldn’t let her drive your truck just yet. She crashed like six times.”
“Only four,” Ella says.
Laughing, I rise to my feet, keeping a hand on Ella’s shoulder. I gesture toward Harlow. “Ella, this is Harlow. She’s friends with Piper. She owns this beauty shop.”
Ella smiles up at Harlow. I risk a glance at her and see that she’s smiling down at my daughter. I can see a hint of amusement in her blue eyes.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Ella,” she says.
“Are you marrying my dad?”
Harlow’s expression goes from smiling to shock in an instant. Her wide eyes shoot back and forth between me and Ella. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Marry? Who said anything about getting married? We’re not even dating. I hear Cole’s laughter from beside me and turn to see Ella grinning up at him. He reaches out a hand and she slaps it with her smaller one.
I shoot my brother a glare as Ella giggles up at him. “Seriously?”
Cole shrugs. “I couldn’t resist.” He looks over at Harlow. “Sorry,” he says, but he looks more amused than apologetic. “I can’t pass up a chance to make this guy uncomfortable.”
Harlow seems to have recovered from the shock of Ella’s question. She narrows her eyes at my brother. “Hmm,” she says. “I’ll think of a suitable act of revenge.”
Cole looks delighted by the prospect and shoots her a grin. “Do your worst.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Harlow says in a sing-song voice.
Something sharp lances through me as I watch their brief interaction. Is Cole flirting? With Harlow? I’ve witnessed my brother flirt with women enough times that I should be able to recognize it. But why would he flirt with Harlow? He knows how I feel—felt, I correct—about her. That’s all in the past. Surely, he wouldn’t try to flirt with her now, would he? I mean, she’s gorgeous. That’s obvious to anyone with eyes. And single. As is Cole.
Before I can stop it, an image of the two of them together flashes into my head and it feels like someone punched me in the gut. I shake off the image as quickly as possible, but I can’t quite forget it. What the hell is wrong with me? Why should I care if they are flirting? Harlow can flirt with whomever she wants. They’re both adults.
“Don’t you have to go?” I ask, my voice sounding harsher than I intended in the silence of the room.
Both their gazes shoot to me. Harlow looks confused, but Cole is grinning even wider now.
“Yeah,” he says before turning back to Harlow. “I’d love to stay longer and catch up, Harlow. But duty calls.” He lets out a sigh of regret.
Is it just me or is he being even flirtier now? Is he leaning in toward her? What the hell? Unable to look at them, I busy myself searching for the wire stripper.
Cole says something that makes Harlow laugh and makes me grit my teeth. Then he ruffles Ella’s hair and waves at me before turning to go. I watch Harlow to see if she watches him leave, but she turns to Ella instead.
“Want to check out the spinning chairs?” she asks in a conspiratorial tone.
Ella’s eyes light up. “How fast do they spin?”
Harlow nods toward the chair. “Depends on how fast someone can push you.” She leads the way to one of the two chairs in the front room.
“I like your hair,” Ella tells her as she climbs into the chair.
Harlow smiles, running a hand through her blonde and pink locks. “Thank you. But I like yours better. I always wished I had curly hair.”
Ella gives her a wide smile, clearly pleased by the compliment. “You should do purple next,” Ella says. “It’s my favorite color.”
“Mine, too,” Harlow says. “I like to switch it up sometimes, though.”
I watch the two of them for a few seconds as they spin in the chairs and talk about hair. Something about the scene makes my breath catch in my throat. It’s the first time I’ve heard Ella talk about her hair at all, except when she gets irritated with her untamable curls. But right now, she’s so animated discussing it with Harlow. I wonder if she’s never cared about her hair before because she’s been surrounded by men for most of her life. Or maybe it’s just because Harlow is a hairdresser. Maybe she’s just old enough to care about it now. I’m overthinking this. It seems to be a theme for me lately.
Shaking off my rambling thoughts, I pull my focus back to the work at hand. I need to finish replacing this last breaker so Harlow can safely wash and dry her laundry. Plus, it’s getting later, and I need to get Ella home for dinner and a bath. She’s got school tomorrow.
It takes me another 10 minutes to finish with the breaker. I test the appliances to make sure they work okay and don’t cause the breaker to trip before gathering up my tools and joining Harlow and Ella in the main room of the salon. Ella is still seated in one of the chairs with Harlow standing behind her, arranging her hair with tiny clips. Ella’s attention is focused on her reflection in the mirror and Harlow is focused on what she’s doing. Neither of them notices me as I watch them from the doorway.
