Scars Like Ours | Red View Romance #2

🐈 Thirteen

Cliff went upstairs to dampen his hair and grab his brush, comb, and the hair scissors that he did in fact own. He pulled them from his toiletries bag after wetting his hair and placing a towel around his shoulders, all the while asking himself what he'd just gotten into.

He was supposed to be staying away from Annie. And he'd done a good job of saying no at first, even as much as it pained him to turn down the opportunity of having her so close and having all her attention on him for who knew how long.

He'd said no, then Kenzie went and got all emotional on him again, said that stuff about not caring what he looked like, and he realized how much of an idiot he was being. He was lucky that she really wanted him in the pictures, and if she wanted him to look a little more put-together with a nicer haircut, then damn it, he owed her that much.

But when he'd come around to taking Annie up on her offer, something had changed. It wasn't hard to tell she was shy--he'd picked up on that well enough the first time they'd spoken on the porch. But her demeanor had turned from shy into something icy--it was obvious he'd offended her by refusing her the first time. Why it offended her he wasn't sure, but it sure made him feel like an asshole with or without the reasoning.

Beneath the ice of hers, that cold response of "Sure," and "Getting it over with," there'd been a fire, too. And Jesus, wasn't that interesting? Wasn't that just another layer to the woman that he found himself wanting to learn about? He wanted to figure out what fanned that flame, and he didn't care if he had to get close enough for it to burn him.

But he shouldn't want to. When he'd come downstairs that morning and looked in the front yard she was kneeling among the flowers with Jack, the two of them laughing as his brother shooed away a curious bumblebee. They seemed happy together, and it was only a matter of time before friendship became something else, he was sure.

He already knew that she was attracted to Jack, and couldn't imagine his brother wouldn't feel the same way about her. Sure, she was a lot different than Jack's ex--Annie was quieter, less brash, and looked almost the complete opposite, too. But who was to say Jack had a type? Or that if he did, Annie wouldn't be an exception?

And hell, even if he didn't feel that way about Annie, it didn't matter. She had a thing for Jack, and Cliff wasn't Jack. It was really that simple.

When he got back to the kitchen, Jack was gone and Annie and Kenzie were positioning one of the chairs from the dining room in the center of the room.

"Ta-da!" Kenzie sing-songed. "Your styling chair for the morning."

"No one cares if the kitchen is turned into a barber's shop for a while?" He had a hard time imagining Jack--or even Dawson, who was more of the man of the kitchen--would be alright with it.

"If you sweep up well enough, no one has to know." Kenzie jutted her chin to the broom and dustpan that she'd already propped up against the island. "Anyway, I'm off. Mom thinks she finally decided on a mother-of-the-bride dress, but she wants my approval."

"Oh." Cliff hadn't expected her to leave. It meant he and Annie would be alone--a first since their meeting, which had only lasted a minute or two. He was pretty sure the haircut would take a lot longer than that, and wasn't sure now if he'd survive it. "Okay."

She gave him a one-armed hug and a squeeze for good measure. "You're in good hands. I can't wait to see it when I get back."

When she left, he turned to Annie, whose gaze dropped to the tools in his hands.

"Oh, yeah, I brought these." He tried to fight the awkwardness that wanted to swallow him. "Figured we might need them."

"I'll take them. You can sit, if you're ready."