Page 42 of Make Mine Sweet
“I know what you should say to her.” Steven’s practically shouting into the phone to make sure I hear him. “Say, ‘Hey, baby, want to see what this industrial-strength leg can do?’”
I burst into laughter in spite of myself. That’s one way to get Tess’s attention.
“What’s her name?” Iris asks. “What’s she like? How did you meet?”
My mother didn’t raise me to be the kind of guy who would hang up on his sister-in-law, but I’m tempted. “I’m not saying anything.”
“But thereisa woman?”
Did I just walk into a trap? How does she do this? Anything I say to them will be used against me, so I do what I do best when it comes to my personal life. Deflect. “How’s the photography business going?”
“We’re in the middle of peak wedding season. I’m booked every weekend. It’s exhausting, but I love it. Is this your attempt to change the subject?”
“It is.”
“We only ask because we care about you. You can’t shut off your emotions forever.” Her voice grows way too soft for my taste. “You know we’re always here for you. Whatever you need.”
“I know.” I haven’t always acted like it, but I do know it’s true.
“Even though he left with barely a week’s notice,” Steven adds in the background.
“We want the best for you,” she goes on, ignoring my brother. “Whatever that is. Maybe it’s this woman you won’t tell us about. Maybe it’s something else. Your brothers tease you, but they’re always cheering for you, too.”
Why does something as simple as that make my throat stick? Pierce and Steven were there for me after my accident in every way I’d let them. They visited me in the hospital and in the physical rehabilitation center, even in the early days when I barely acknowledged their presence at my bedside. They eagerly welcomed me back to our business even though I couldn’t do my old job in the same way and might never get there. The choice to leave wasn’t for any lack on their part. It was all me.
“Are you still rocking that cave man look?”
That’s another thing I like about Iris—she makes her point and moves on.
I twisted my hair into a bun today, but I draw my fingers through the ends of my beard. “You don’t think it’s rakish? Like a pirate?”
I might be too proud of that, to be honest.
“More like a guy who claims to be a wizard, but he just wanders around town wearing robes and scaring kids.”
“Way to knock my ego down a peg.” That’s even worse than Gandalf. That’s faux-Gandalf, and I would never.
“You know who Ian looks like?” Steven says in the background. “That big red-haired guy fromGame of Thrones. The one with the crazy eyes.”
I know the character they’re talking about, and I don’t love the comparison. This is the kind of person I remind them of now? The weirdo? He was a good fighter, too, but they didn’t lead with that part. Nope. Went right forcrazy eyes.
I’m sure there are plenty of non-unhinged, non-wizard heroes with long hair and full beards. Just can’t think of any at the moment.
Iris starts laughing. “He really does.”
I glare so hard an elderly woman passing in front of my bench makes a little squeak of distress and scurries away.
“Is that the look you’re going for, Ian?” Steven calls out with a laugh.
I wasn’t going for anything. I just haven’t bothered to cut my hair or beard in a while. More accurately, I haven’t cut them since I was in the hospital almost two years ago, and they were both on the long side even then.
“It’s not that funny,” I grumble.
Iris swallows down her laughter. “If you like how you look, that’s all that matters.”
Do I like how I look, though? Do I really think I look good with hair a foot past where I used to keep it and a beard that could house a whole flock of birds? Or do I like that my unkempt appearance makes people give me extra elbow room on the rare occasion I go into town?
What if I don’t want people to keep their distance anymore? At least, not everyone.
