Page 116 of Chaos

She blinks innocently. “You want me to talk about how hot your brother is instead? Because I can do that. All day long.Explicitly.”

I grimace, a sentiment pretty much everyone but Luna echoes.

Cackling like the witch she is, the woman set to become the newest Jackson digs her elbow into my ribs. “Would it really be that bad?” she murmurs in a tone that’s entirely unlike the one typical of her, no tease or trouble to be heard.

I don’t request clarification. I don’t need it. I know exactly what she means. Just like I know the answer because I’ve asked myself the same question.

No,I admit to only myself.It wouldn’t be bad at all.

28

“Whatever you did to my sister,” his boss grunts as they roll a table inside a white, canvas tent. “Undo it.”

“I can’t believeyou waited until now to do this.”

I glare at my sister’s reflection, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t share the disbelieving sentiment. “I’ve been a little busy,” I grumble, though to be completely honest, I really just forgot. That is, until Luna pulled me aside.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She just stared, tapped her roots with one, pearly nail, and then she stared some more until the message started feeling like a threat—dye your hair, or die.

Making my twin drive me to the drugstore was an easy task—anything to get out of the tedious task of screwing light bulbs into mason jars and stringing them up inside both the gazebos the guys set up, the one for the ceremony and the one for the reception. Convincing her to play hairdresser, on the other hand, is proving to be a little harder.

Hovering behind me, Grace frowns skeptically at the thin gloves that came with the box dye I’ve been slathering on my roots for years now. “This is gonna ruin my hands, isn’t it?”

“No.” Unless, of course, byruin, she means stain them and everything else it touches bright red. Then, yes. Yes, it will.

Hazel eyes narrow, like they see right through my lie. “Can’t someone else do it? Red really isn’t my color.”

“Like who?” I ask sarcastically, and who chooses that exact moment to stroll past the open bathroom door?

“Finn.”

The ranch hand comes to an abrupt stop. Eyeing him in the mirror, I watch as he slowly turns. The backs of my bare thighs burn as his gaze drops to the hem of my dye-splotched, oversized t-shirt.

That fleeting glance is all I get before his attention flicks to Grace. “What’s up?”

“Do me a favor?”

As if he trusts Grace’s sugar-sweet tone as much as I do, his expression turns dubious.

“Lottie needs help dying her hair.”

“Actually,” I interject, scowling at my twin’s reflection. “I can do it myself.”

Grace side-eyes me. “You literally just asked for my help.

Yeah.Herhelp. Not the man who won’t evenlookat me—he might burst into flames if he has to,gasp,touch me. “I changed my mind.”

I’ll figure it out. After all, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.

As I set about squeezing developer and colorant into a plastic bowl, I don’t pay any attention to the pair still lingering. Well, I try not to. Which is kind of impossible when their silent conversation is so very loud. I imagine lots of eye bulging, headjerking, some made-up version of sign language thrown in for good measure, but I don’t indulge my curiosity by looking up.

When Grace retreats and the door finally clicks shut, I breathe a sigh of relief.

When someone else does the same, I almost drop the bowl and splatter dye everywhere.

Wide-eyed, I glance up to find Finn leaning against the closed bathroom door. Arms folded. Head cocked. Gaze low.Silent.

I’m certainly not going to be the first one to speak up. Pursing my lips, I shift my focus back to the task on hand—making sure my death date and my brother’s wedding date don’t coincide.

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