Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, and my heart fucking breaks.
“It’s okay.” I rub her back and rock her from side to side.
If I didn’t know Hazel would lose her ever-loving mind about Winter cutting her hair, I would’ve let her do what she wanted to this afternoon. But I know Hazel and knew she would be pissed if I made that decision without her approval. And I don’t blame her. There are things she has to agree to, even if she is not here, and cutting Winter’s hair is one of those things. But Winter knew she wasn’t going to be able to get her hair cut, since she called her mom when we got home to show her what Emma had done and asked if she could get the style she wanted next time. To which Hazel gave her a very firm no.
“I tried to fi-fix it, but I couldn’t,” she sobs, sounding devastated, and I almost laugh. Not that her doing what she did is funny, but I can see her in here, knowing she messed up and continuing on, going shorter and shorter each time she cut a chunk off.
“We’ll get it fixed up,” I promise on a squeeze, then lean back to get a look at her. It’s not as bad as I thought it was. Yes, there are some pieces that are much shorter than others, but it’s definitely fixable for a professional. “I’m going to go grab my phone and the broom. While I do that, you start cleaning up what you can. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods, wiping her nose.
“Where are the scissors you used?”
“In the drawer.”
“Get them for me,” I say quietly as I stand.
Once I have them in hand, I leave the bathroom and walk to the kitchen where my cell is. Dialing Emma’s number, I listen to it ring while I get the broom and dustpan from the cleaning closet.
“Hey,” she answers, sounding surprised. “Are you here already?”
“No, sorry, we’ve got an emergency.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Define okay,” I mutter, then add, “Winter decided to cut her hair.”
“Oh no,” she whispers.
“Yeah. Do you mind coming here, and I’ll see if I can change our reservation?”
“Of course. I just finished getting dressed, so I’ll be on my way in five minutes with my shears.”
“Thanks, baby.” The phone goes quiet, and I start to pull it from my ear to see if the call got disconnected, but then she clears her throat.
“Yeah, of course. See you soon.” After ending the call, I pull up Tucker’s number and send him a text, letting him know Winter will be late and that I’ll fill him in on what’s happening when I get a minute.
When I walk into the bathroom with the broom and dustpan, Winter looks up at me from the floor with a handful of hair. Okay, so maybe her hair is that bad. Hopefully, Emma will be able to do something with it, and I’ll be able to smooth things over with Hazel, so she’ll have time to pull herself together before seeing Winter.
“Emma is on her way,” I tell her, and she drops her eyes to the floor.
“Is she going to be mad at me?”
“Why would she be mad at you?”
“Because I messed up my hair she made all pretty today.”
“Emma isn’t going to be mad,” I assure her, and she looks up at me with her eyes watering once more.
“Mom is going to be mad.”
Yeah, she is, but hopefully I can talk her down from losing her shit when she talks to Winter. “Your mom will be disappointed that you cut your hair, when she told you that you couldn’t.”
“Disappointed is the same as mad,” she grumbles as she scoops up another handful of hair and places it in the trash.
“No, she’ll be disappointed, because she expected you to listen when she told you no.”
“It’s my hair.”
“You’re right, it is, but you’re still a kid, Win. So, until you get older, we are the ones who will make a lot of decisions for you. And sometimes you won’t like them.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Maybe, but that’s the way it is.” I finish sweeping the floor and tell her to get the stuff to wipe down the counters, since tiny pieces of hair are everywhere. When we are just about done, there’s a knock on the door, so I leave her and go to answer it.
Swinging the door in, my chest gets tight as I take Emma in—hair down, makeup much like she wore it the other night, with her lips painted red once more. Her body is wrapped in a body-hugging black turtleneck sweater-dress with high-heeled boots that hit her mid-thigh, leaving only a strip of skin exposed. Classy… and sexy as fuck. Mouth dry and palms itching, I fight the urge to back her into the wall across the hall and take advantage of the length of her dress.