Do You Take This Man (40)

“You’re not going to get a color.”

He shrugged. “I can’t on my fingers. Penny has a strict no-nail-color rule, lest it clash with some couple’s color scheme.”

“Oh.” I reached for a bottle and my hand collided with Lear’s, him grabbing the bottle of That’s My Jam, my unfortunately named favorite. “I thought you said you didn’t want color.”

“On my fingers,” he said, holding the bottle out of reach. “This might look good on my toes.”

“That’s my shade.”

“I know—you wear it all the time.”

I huffed, but he only grinned in response. “Is that still the color of your back?”

He pointed to a bottle of light pink polish. “Closer to this now.”

Mai and Laura led us to the pedicure chairs, Lear following behind me. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, but I remember thinking getting a pedicure was the height of luxury the first time my mom took me. As I sank my feet into the hot water and Mai started the massage feature in my chair, I stifled a groan and closed my eyes.

Laura looked up at Lear. “Is the water okay for you?”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Lear’s deep voice stood out in the space filled with mostly soft voices, and I glanced at him. His jeans were rolled up to his knees as he flashed his annoyingly charming smile at Laura.

They left us to soak, and when I rolled my head to the side again to take in Lear, he was already looking at me. “Why do you know what color I pick?”

He handed me the bottle and lifted one shoulder. “You always wear it, or a color that looks like that.”

I closed my eyes again, not wanting to see the dimple pop when he inevitably smirked. “No one ever pays attention to my fingers unless I’m flipping them off.”

“You flip me off a lot.”

I smiled without looking at him. “I guess I do.”

“You also have nice fingers. They’re . . . pretty.”

My eyes snapped open at the compliment, but Lear had let his eyes fall closed, and I admired the curve of his jaw, looking for sarcasm.

“Thank you.” I looked at my own hands, examining them. No one had ever complimented my hands before, but it was the part of my body I loved most. “My fingertips are curved like my grandma’s.”

“No way. Let me see.”

I held out my hand, and he took it, examining my three middle fingers on each hand, all of which curved slightly inward. He’d never held my hand, not outside of gripping it during one of our hookups, but it was nice, warm, and for a minute I had an insane fantasy he’d kiss my knuckle. “I don’t know how I never noticed that. Were you close with her?”

I pulled my hand back. “Yeah.” She’d lived with us after my dad left. She’d been one of the largest constellations in my sky for a long time—caregiver, disciplinarian, comforter. “We were close.”

He nodded, maybe sensing I didn’t want to talk more about it. Maybe just not interested. “This is nicer than the nail salons I’ve been to before.”

Around us, people chatted under the soft lighting and airy color-coated walls. This was the one place where I totally relaxed. Usually I put my phone away, and even if I looked at emails, I didn’t answer. My mom got on me about self-care, the same things my grandma used to say to her, and I listened, if for no other reason than it reminded me of her. “I would have thought LA would have a lot of nice nail salons.”

“I never went in LA. My mom would take me when I was younger, though. We lived a couple hours west of here.”

“I can’t picture you young . . . All I imagine is a mini version of you in OshKosh polo shirts.” I wiggled my toes in the water, moving toward the jets. “If your mom visits you, bring her here. They’re the best. So good, she might forget what a charming jackass her son is.”

I expected him to volley back, but he was quiet. When I turned my head, I caught a flash of a pause before he gave me a small grin. “She actually died when I was a teenager. Both my parents did. She would have liked it, though.”

Shit. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I desperately tried to pull back my words.

“It was a long time ago. Stop searching for something to say.” He leaned his head against the padding of the chair and closed his eyes, leaving me to fumble privately, though Mai gave me a raised eyebrow of acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry I said that, about you being a jackass.” I looked away, too, sinking into the awkwardness. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You call me a jackass all the time.” I heard the smile in his voice before I saw it. “It’s almost a term of endearment.”

“Don’t go that far.” I stole a glance at the side of his face. “I don’t really mean it, though. I mean, you’re not really a jackass.”

He chuckled, and we let our conversation fall away as Laura and Mai went to work on our feet, scrubbing and clipping, moisturizing and massaging.

My gaze never strayed far from Lear, taking in how long he looked in the chair, how comfortable. Guilt still niggled at the edges of my thoughts at what I’d said, but his slight yelp at the hot towel around his legs and the pink that crossed his cheeks made me stifle a laugh and call him a lightweight.

“Can you do my toenails in the same color as hers?” He motioned to the bottle in Mai’s hand.