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.”