The Bride Test (15 page)

No kissing. No touching.

Nonetheless, the pads of her fingertips itched to stroke his lightly stubbled jaw and the strong cords of his neck. What would it feel like to run her fingers through his hair? The strands were thicker and darker than her own, and some of the uneven locks fell beneath his jaw. She stopped herself before she touched the ends.

“You need a haircut.”

He sent her a wry look. “I know.”

“I can do it. I know how. I used to cut hair for my cousins. I’m good at it,” she said, but then she held her breath. Was getting his hair cut at home too unclassy for him? Maybe she shouldn’t have offered.

He paused in the hallway and considered her. “You’d cut my hair for me?”

“Of course.”

“You have to do it a certain way.”

“Show me a picture. If I see it, I can do it.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he carried her into her room instead. After setting her on the couch, he asked, “Will you cut my hair tomorrow morning? Please?”

She bit her lip, but that couldn’t stop the wide smile from spreading across her face. “I’m happy to do it.”

He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

“How do you like it? Do you have a picture?”

He swiped a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave the style up to you. I just want it shorter.”

“I can pick?”

“Yeah, sure.” He smiled lightly as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled aimlessly through the room, stopping by the desk. A thoughtful look crossed his face, and he picked up something from the desk’s surface. The photograph of her dad. “Who are these people?”

She focused on her injured ankle and wiggled her toes a few times. “My mom and dad.”

His eyebrows arched as he glanced her way. “He went to Berkeley.”

She took a breath and released it. “I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ve never met him before.”

“Oh.” Khải flipped the picture around to inspect the back, but she knew there wasn’t anything written there.

“Do you think if we go there, they can help me find him?”

“To Berkeley?” he asked.

She nodded.

He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

Hope bloomed in her chest. “Can we go ... tomorrow? After the haircut?”

He hesitated a second before he said, “Yeah, okay. We can go.”

She got to her feet, so happy she wanted to hug him, but she squeezed her hands into fists instead and grinned. “Thank you, Anh Khải.”

An awkward smile touched his mouth. “Yeah, sure.” He walked toward the bathroom that connected their rooms but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Remember to take the binding off when you shower. I’ll wrap it again when you’re ready to sleep.”

“Okay.”

When he left, she took a moment to admire her ankle binding. It had been perfectly done, not too tight, not too loose, with evenly spaced loops. So this was what it was like when Khải took care of someone.

A daydream of him taking care of Jade ran through her mind. If he wanted to, he could be so great with her little girl.

But Esme had no confidence that was in the cards. This didn’t
mean
anything. She shouldn’t let it go to her head. He was just a good person. She’d been working on it, but she was still ... herself. Surprisingly, experience from her previous life as Mỹ was going to be useful tomorrow.

She got her phone out and searched through photographs of movie stars and musicians until images of beautiful men were stuck to the backs of her eyelids. Tomorrow, she was going to give Khải the best haircut of his life.

T
he next morning, Esme had everything ready. A chair was set up in the middle of the kitchen, sharp scissors lay on the counter, and the broom and dustpan were ready for cleanup afterward. The only thing missing was Khải. She clasped her hands together and took several breaths. There was no need to be nervous. She’d given lots of haircuts. She was going to do a good job.

But what if he didn’t like it? What if he got mad because she’d “ruined” his hair?

The shower turned off, and shortly after that, Khải walked into the kitchen, wearing black shorts and a black T-shirt with
I love taxes
in white lettering. The sleeves were tight around the hard muscles of his upper arms, and she made herself look at his hair before she got completely distracted. Fresh from the shower, it was the ideal dampness for a haircut.

He considered her feet. “Does it hurt to stand? We can do this another time.”

She smiled. He didn’t seem to notice hurt feelings so much, but a hurt ankle got his attention. “No, it’s much better. Here.” She clasped the back of the chair. “Anh Khải, sit down.”

He obeyed and clasped his knees, ready.

Acting like a professional, which she wasn’t, she picked up the scissors, but Khải said, “I need you to do this a certain way.”

“You want to see the hairstyle I picked for you? I can show you—”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I trust your taste. Maybe ...” He ran his hands up and down his thighs a few times. Was he
nervous
? “Maybe put the scissors down for now.”

She put the scissors down. Great, he was scared she was going to mess up. She didn’t think she would. She’d picked out something classic and sophisticated. At least,
she
thought so.

Focusing on the wall, he said, “I’m autistic, and I have sensory issues. There’s a certain way to touch me, especially my face and hair.” He switched his attention to her face. “It’s probably best if I show you. Can you give me one of your hands?”

He held his palm out, and Esme approached him. She didn’t know what “autistic” was, or “sensory issues,” either, but she understood he was trusting her with something important— himself. Holding her breath, she slowly lowered her hand. Closer. Closer. Until they touched.

She bit her lip, expecting him to jerk away or grimace. His warm fingers closed around her and squeezed, and heat melted outward as she exhaled.

They were holding hands.

He cleared his throat. “Light touches bother me, and it’s worse when I don’t know it’s coming. So, when you cut my hair, I’d appreciate it if you kept your touch firm. Like this.” He gathered her hand in both of his and pressed her palm to the middle of his chest, keeping his hands over hers.

He looked calm on the surface, steady, competent, like he always did, but his heart beat wildly beneath her palm. He
was
nervous. But not for the reason she’d thought.

“All those other times when I ...” she whispered.

His chest lifted on a deep inhalation. “Too light, and you caught me by surprise.”

“I didn’t know ...” She’d thought it was
her
touch. She’d never imagined it was
everyone’s
touch. “What does it feel like when people touch you too lightly?”

His brow wrinkled. “It’s just too much. It almost hurts, but actual pain is preferable. It’s difficult to describe.”

“If I need to touch you, I should tell you first?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s best to warn me if I’m not expecting it.”

She tugged on her arm slightly. “Can I touch your face?”

He nodded and let his hands drop away from hers, but his throat bobbed on a loud swallow.

She lifted her fingers toward his jaw but stopped before making contact. “Can you help me?” She didn’t want to get it wrong.

His lips curved with the beginning of a smile, and he brought her hand to his face as he pressed his cheek into her palm. “You don’t need to be so worried. I know what’s going on now. If we work together, I can control my reactions.”

“Is this bad?” she asked, afraid to move a single finger.

“No, it’s fine. For my hair, it’s best if you can keep good tension on the strands while you cut them. I don’t mind if you pull hard. It doesn’t hurt. But no light touch. Please.”

“No light touch.” She reached her other hand toward him, curled the fingers as she hesitated, and then threaded them into his damp hair, pressing her fingertips firmly to his scalp. “Is that okay?”

When his eyelids drooped with pleasure and he nodded, she grew braver. She pushed her other hand from his jaw up to his temple and into his hairline.

“How is that?” she whispered.

“Good.” The word rumbled out of him, deep, almost gravelly.

His hair was thick and cool between her fingers, smooth as silk, and before she realized what she was doing, she was massaging his scalp with slow, sweeping motions. And he was letting her. His eyes fell shut, and he leaned into her touch like he was soaking it up. His breaths came slow, easy. If she pressed her palm over his heart now, she would have bet everything his heartbeat had calmed down. She’d done that.

She pulled on the strands like she usually did while cutting. “How is this?”

He frowned, but his eyes didn’t open. “Tighter.”

“Like this?” She pulled harder.

“More.”

She bit her lip and pulled harder yet, scared of hurting him. “This?”

A long breath sighed out of him. “That’s better.”

She shook her head as she smiled to herself. He was a puzzle she never would have been able to solve if he hadn’t shown her how. Those were the best kinds of puzzles, though, weren’t they? The ones no one else could figure out?

“I’m cutting now,” she said.

He opened his eyes and focused on her. “All right.”

She heard his words, recognized them as permission to go forward, but in that moment, she couldn’t pull her hands back. She wanted to be closer to him, not farther away. Her massage had brought color to his cheeks and a drowsy cast to his dark, dark eyes. His lips had never looked so kissable. The need to kiss him grew into a wild craving, urging her to crawl right onto his lap, press her body against his, and take, take, take.

She wrenched herself away before she could do something she’d regret and took a moment to gather her thoughts. This was a haircut. That was it. His words echoed in her head, a reminder.

You. Have. To. Stop. Do you understand? You. Have. To. Stop.

If he wanted more, he would have to make the first move. She couldn’t do it.

The coldness of the scissors grounded her, and her mind sharpened into focus like a surgeon’s did when they picked up a scalpel. All things considered, Khải had been really tolerant of her, and he was taking her to hunt for her dad today. This was a good thing to do in return, and she wanted to do it well.

Moving to stand behind him, she said, “I’m starting.”

“Okay.”

But just like before, she had difficulty making the first move. He couldn’t see her from here. What if she surprised him and ruined this whole thing before it began?

She held her left hand by his ear. “Can you put my hand in your hair?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, gave her a puzzled smile, and pressed her hand to his hair before facing forward again.

Her motions were tentative at first, but she gained confidence with every snip of the scissors. She gathered his hair between her fingers, taking care to keep the tension tight, cut, and smoothed her fingers over his scalp before gathering more hair. Over and over, she did this, and before long, the rhythmic nature of it relaxed her as much as it did him.

She trimmed the back and sides and ended up in front of him. With a last snip of the scissors, dark hair floated to the kitchen floor. She took a step back to assess her work, widening her focus to take in more than just his hair, and the transformation made her gasp. He’d been good-looking before.
This
was too much.

The short haircut opened up his face, showing off his strong features to full advantage. Girls were going to throw themselves at him. Starting with her, if she wasn’t careful.

“How is it?” he asked.

Making sure to keep her touches firm, she tugged on the strands to see if the lengths were even on both sides. “It’s good.” Tapping the handle of the scissors on her jaw, she let a smile sneak onto her lips. “
I’m
good.”

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to her. “Take a picture for Vy, please. She’s the hair police.”

Esme took pictures from several different angles, but before returning the phone to him, she sent her favorite one to herself. “She’s going to like it.”

He scratched at his neck where small hairs stuck to his skin as he sent the same picture to his sister. “We’ll see.”

She got the broom and dustpan and had half of the hair on the floor swept up when his phone buzzed. Chuckling, he showed her the text messages on his screen.

Finally!

Who cut it? Tip 50%!

My baby brother is a hottie!!!

“I guess she approves,” he said.

Esme grinned. “I told you she’d like it.”

“Thank you.” He returned her smile, and it was one of his rare
real
smiles that wrinkled his eyes, dimpled his cheeks, and revealed even white teeth.

Sky and earth, she wanted to taste that smile. And each of those dimples. Pure wanting speared through her body on electric currents, making the fine hairs on her skin stand up, and she almost swayed toward him. If she was better at being Esme in Accounting, would he want her back?

His smile dimmed. “What is it? Is something wrong?”