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 jumped to her feet, so happy she wanted to hug him, but she squeezed her hands into fists instead and grinned. “Thank you, Anh Kh?i.”
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 Kh?i 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 M? 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 Kh?i the best haircut of his life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The 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 Kh?i. 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, Kh?i 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 Kh?i, sit down.”
He obeyed and clasped his knees, ready.
Acting like a professional, which she wasn’t, she picked up the scissors, but Kh?i 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.