Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher 3)

“Is it okay?” he asks, indicating the duck.

“Fine.” I’ve never had a duck in my house, but there’s a first time for everything. “Grab that chair and we’ll do it in the kitchen so we won’t make a mess.” I look at him as he stands there fidgeting in the doorway. “You sure you want to do this?”

He nods.

I motion for him to walk over to the sink. “Let’s wash it first.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “I just washed it last night.” He looks mildly offended.

I walk to the bathroom and come back with a bottle of shampoo. “It’s easier to handle when it’s wet.”

My face gets hot when he looks at me and grins, but he doesn’t say “That’s what she said” or anything foolish like that. I can tell he’s thinking it, though.

“Bend over,” I instruct. I get the water warm, and dip his head under the spray, then lather it really quickly.

“Is this just an excuse for you to put your boobs all over me?” he suddenly asks. Then he holds his breath as I shove his face under the stream of water. He laughs lightly when I set him free. “You could have just said no,” he

replies as he blows water from his lips and squeezes his eyes closed.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” I shake my head, but I probably have a perma-grin on my face.

He doesn’t respond, but the smile falls off his face, and I wonder what I said wrong.

I dry his hair a little with a towel. “How much do you want to keep?” I ask as I take in his face. It’s so familiar but at the same time it’s not.

“You can do whatever you want.” He scratches the thick hair on his chin. “I doubt you could make me look much scragglier than I already do.”

He gets quiet as I start to work on his hair, lifting it in sections between my fingers and snipping it. All the tension falls out of his shoulders, and his head relaxes under my fingertips. “You doing okay?” I ask quietly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he’s all but asleep.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums.

“I’m going to do your face, but you have to hold still,” I warn. I have a brand new razor and I know how to use it, but I’d still hate to cut him.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums again. I lay his head back gently against the chair back so he’s looking up. His eyes suddenly meet mine and he says very quietly, “Thank you for doing this.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn. “You haven’t seen the results.” But deep inside, I’m touched by the sincere way he just thanked me.

I use the scissors to take off the longest portions of the beard, then shave him slowly and methodically, soaping his facial hair to ease the glide of the razor as I take off the rest, stopping often to clean the razor. I tilt his face and pinch his nose closed, and he never once complains. He just holds his breath and then lets it out when I release. When I get near his ear, he laughs out loud.

“I forgot that you’re ticklish right there,” I say. He flicks his ear like he’s flicking my touch away, which makes me laugh.

When I’m done, I stare at him. He sits there, still staring up at the ceiling, his face quiet and serene. He’s so handsome. Gone is the boyish charm, and it has been replaced by a manly grin. He still has those deep dimples, his right one a little deeper than his left. He has always been quick-witted, but he’s also a good-looking man, one that makes my heart do that quick th-thunk that makes me suddenly feel uncomfortable.

His eyes narrow as he watches me. “What just happened?” he asks softly.

“It was nothing,” I say quietly. I should try to play it off, but I can’t. “I was just thinking you clean up real good.” Then I tweak his nose and he laughs. He sits up and slaps his knees.

“How’d I turn out?”

“Very handsome,” I say quietly. I take in a breath and hold it.

He gets up and goes to the bathroom to look in the mirror. He whistles dramatically. “Damn! You made me pretty,” he says as he strokes the pale skin of his face, which probably hasn’t seen the sun in years.

“You’ve always been pretty,” I say as I stand in the doorway and watch him admire himself, my shoulder hitched against the doorjamb.

He reaches for his back pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

I push his hand away. “Don’t be silly. You don’t owe me anything. I had fun doing it.” He stares at me through the mirror until I get uncomfortable again. “What?” My eyes meet his in the glass.