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He walks behind me, and those pensive dark eyes study my hands. “Can I do it?”
My reflection shows huge eyes. “You want to French braid my hair?”
He nods. “You have such beautiful hair.” He brushes a loose strand off my shoulder and then leans down and kisses my neck. “And neck. I love your neck. I couldn’t stop staring at it when you organized my bookshelf.”
Warmth fills me everywhere. “Alright.” My voice is strangely hoarse. “I’ll tell you how to do it.”
He nods sharply and steps directly behind my back. “Command me, my queen.”
“Okay, it’s not easy on your first try. Your fingers have to do multiple things at once.”
He grins. “I’m good with my fingers.”
I cock a brow. “Let’s see how good you are, Pastor.”
I show him how to divide the hair into sections and then intertwine them. He’s quiet, focused on the movements of my hands with a furrowed brow, looking thoroughly absorbed, and something about it is achingly sweet, making my chest tight.
“That seems pretty straightforward,” he says.
I smile. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He doesn’t waste a moment before reaching out for my head. His fingers are surprisingly agile for his first time braiding, and the rhythmic pull on my hair is soothing.
“You have so much hair,” he says.
I snort. “It’s my one beauty.”
His hands grow still. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
He sounds so sweetly indignant that the ache in my chest grows sharper. “I’m not trying to fish for compliments, but it was hard growing up with someone who looks like Sofia. Every guy I knew had a crush on her.”
He frowns as he continues his task. “You’re every bit as beautiful as her, if not more so.”
When I snort, he tugs at my hair. “I mean it, young lady.”
“And yet you started courting her. Not me.”
His eyes soften as he stares down at my hair. “I didn’t start courting her because I thought she was more beautiful than you. You weren’t even an option.”
“Why not?” I ask a touch too sharply.
For a moment, he quietly works on my hair, but I know he’s thinking of the right response.
The right response to placate me.
“Don’t say I’m too young,” I add. “That’s bullshit. I’m only six years younger than Sofia.”
He chuckles humorlessly. “Onlysix years.”
“I’m not some naïve Christian girl who thinks getting married will solve all her problems. I’m probably more mature than Sofia in that respect. The church tried to groom me to become a man’s possession, and they failed. I know my own mind, and I know what I want. I wantyou.”
What am I asking? Am I asking for more than this weekend? He can’t give me that. Won’t.
His hands grow still, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I’m supposed to be mentoring you. I don’t know if you realize this, but it’s wrong to fuck someone you mentor.”
I scoff. “I never asked you to mentor me.”
“No.” His gaze returns to his hands as they work through my hair. “But someone did.”
