“It looks great,” he says, running his fingers through the sides of his hair.
I tried to go for the 90s and early 2000s bad boy haircut.
“Do you mind if I shower first?” He tears his under shirt off before he’s finished asking the question.
I jerk my eyes away from his bare chest and meet his knowing blue eyes. “Go for it,” I squeak and practically sprint out of the bathroom.
His laughter carries behind me as I close the door.
I have got to stop letting him get to me. I thought I was stronger than this.
CHAPTER 30
EBBA
I amnotstrongerthan this.
Thirty minutes later Fisher leaves the bathroom with a billow of steam behind him and a tiny white towel wrapped around his trim waist. He’s shaved. The beard is entirely gone, leaving behind smooth skin and dimples. He looks exactly like the guy I fell for years ago and it’s slightly terrifying to be transported back to then.
He rubs his jaw then reaches up to adjust his glasses. “Shower is all yours,” he says, oblivious to my gaped mouth expression based on the fact that he turns to his suitcase and rifles through it.
“You shaved the beard,” I gasp.
Here I was kind of sad to see the lumberjack-esque version of him disappear, but this one might be even more disarming.
He turns around, smiling just slightly. “It didn’t really go with your excellent haircut. Besides, Noah has been hinting for the last two months that I can’t show up to his wedding looking like I live off the grid—whatever that means. Just because someone lives off the grid doesn’t mean they don’t shave,” he mumbles, returning to going through his stuff.
“Do you want me to unpack your bags?” I ask, slipping off the bed. I unpacked my stuff last night before I crashed.
“I don’t expect you to do that. I’m used to living out of a suitcase, so I tend to not unpack anything.” I give him a droll look and he laughs. “I know you are too, but you’re a woman. It makes sense that you’d want to unpack your stuff and put it away.”
I open one of the dresser drawers and pull out my pajamas. A cute pastel purple matching set with white stripes.
Leaving him to change, I shut myself away in the bathroom.
The heat of the shower soothes my aching muscles. I didn’t even realize how tired my leg feels until now. Some days, usually when I’m busier, it’s easier to ignore but it always catches up with me like now.
Out of the shower, I rifle through my toiletries bag for the bottle of Advil I keep inside and down two of the pills.
I don’t often dwell on the bike accident, but sometimes thewhat ifscreep up around the edges of my mind and I wonder, if it had never happened, would Fisher and I ever have been together? Would Grace have happened? Or would I have kept dancing and followed my dreams in that direction? Chances are I would have.
I take a deep, steadying breath, and screw the medicine cap back on.
Taking my time with my skincare and nightly routine, I finally emerge to find Fisher already in bed with the lights dimmed. He’s shirtless with the covers settled at his waist. His glasses keep slipping down and twice already he’s had to slide them back up as he studies something on his iPad.
It hits me straight in the chest how domestic this looks—how easily I could have this every day if I give in to what he wants.
He looks over when he realizes I’ve stood frozen on the carpet for far too long.
Peering over top his glasses at me, he says, “Are you okay?”
“Sorry. Just lost in my thoughts,” I fib.
Fumbling with my phone charger, I finally get it plugged in and climb in the bed.
“You can put whatever you want on.” He slides the remote over to my side of the bed.
I take it, scrolling through the channels until I findThe Devil Wears Prada. It was one of my favorite movies as a teen, and I think played a large role in making me love clothes and fashion so much. There was a moment after the accident where I contemplated going in that direction with things—maybe as a designer or assistant of some sort—but I realized I would much rather do my own thing.