Page 66 of #Moonstruck

I had expected him to say no. That he had somebody who would fly out and take care of that sort of thing for him. His gorgeous locks were too important to leave in the hands of a semiprofessional such as myself.

“Oh. Okay. Are you sure?” I didn’t want to force him to endure my presence.

“Yes, Maisy. I’m sure. I’m getting a little scruffy.” A bit of that light was back in his eyes, the teasing, intense one that made my stomach feel hollow.

“You know, we were just on the set of your music video. You could have had the professional hairstylist cut it then.” Suddenly my brain shifted gears, and I wanted to cut his hair. To do something nice for him to show him I was grateful. To get the chance to be close to him. What I didn’t want was for him to agree only because ... I was here. Still convenient.

“They wanted my hair a little longer for the video.” But he didn’t say anything else to reassure me.

Deciding I was an adult and could handle it, I took one of the kitchen chairs and put it next to the sink. “Sit here. It’ll be easier to clean up than trying to cut your hair in the bathroom. Not that you’ll be the one sweeping it up. I’m sure they’ll have somebody who—” I was rambling again. “I’ll be back in a second.”

He did as I asked, and I went into the bathroom and grabbed the shampoo and conditioner the ranch had provided. I didn’t recognize the brand but figured it would work. I also took a couple of fluffy white towels.

Then I rummaged through my bag to find my special hair scissors, a comb, and clippers. I cut my brothers’ hair on a regular basis, so I brought them along in case I needed them on tour.

Ryan watched me as I walked over. “Lean forward,” I told him. I stood between his legs, his arms on either side of my outer thighs. My hands shook as I put one of the towels around his neck. “I’m going to, um, wash your hair first. It’s easier for me to cut wet hair.”

I turned the water on, letting it run until it turned warm. I had him tilt his head back so I could get his hair under the faucet. “Is that too hot? Too cold?”

“It’s just right.”

I was about to wash and cut his hair. Which meant touching him even more. I let out a sigh and pushed his hair under the water. As I’d imagined, it was really soft.

This was something I had done every day for years. I’d washed the heads of thousands of people. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a job. Totally impersonal.

Unfortunately, nothing about this moment felt impersonal.

I put a small amount of shampoo in my palm and scrubbed it in. I let my fingers gently dig into his scalp, and I lathered up the shampoo. I did it slowly, enjoying the sensation of getting to touch him. The wet, silky threads of his hair slid across my hands, caressing them. I broke out all over in goose bumps.

He let out a soft groan of pleasure. “That feels really good.”

My knees buckled. Literally buckled. They smacked into the cabinet under the sink, but I caught myself before I landed in his lap.

Concentrate!Instead of lingering, I tried to be all business. It didn’t help that he sighed and relaxed even more, obviously liking what I was doing. I was so intent on trying to finish that I didn’t notice when my hair fell across his face until he tugged gently on the ends.

“Sorry for hitting you in the face with my unruly hair,” I said. I turned off the water and dried my hands. Then I dried his hair with the same towel. I ignored how close I had to stand to him to do this.

“I don’t mind,” he said after I finished. “I’m curious. Why do you keep your hair so long?”

“Get up for a second.” He stood, and I repositioned the chair in the middle of the room so his hair wouldn’t get into cabinets or on countertops. “You can sit.” I got my scissors and comb and waited while he sat back down again.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded me.

That was probably because I had been trying desperately not to make eye contact with him. My pulse still hadn’t quite recovered from how much he’d liked getting his hair washed. “It’s not even that long right now. I cut six inches off a few weeks ago. Anyway, when I was little,Rapunzelwas my favorite fairy tale. I wanted to grow my hair down to the floor until Parker pointed out that she grew her hair long to let her kidnapper in and out of her prison. Which sort of ruined the whole thing for me. Then it was because I wanted to be strong like Samson.”

My scissors stilled. I’d never told anyone that before. Not even my brothers.

“Why did you need to be strong?”

I pulled up a section of his hair and snipped. Muscle memory took over, making it so that I could cut and chat at the same time. “Because my mom needed me to be. She relied on all of us a lot. She did her best, but in the end, she was devoted to a man who didn’t care about her. Or us.” My throat felt thick, as if I’d suffered another bee sting. I cleared it, wanting a lighter note. “Now I don’t know. It’s my best feature.”

“As a guy, please allow me to tell you that it is not your best feature.”

Blood rushed out of my brain, leaving me light-headed. “Oh? What is?”

“I’m too much of a gentleman to say.”

I hit him on the shoulder, and he laughed, and it felt like nothing bad had ever happened between us. We were back to being Maisy and Ryan again. Or Mayan, the couple name the tabloid sites had taken to using.

---