Open Road Summer(66)

When we reach Greg’s door, Matt knocks, calling to him, “We’re back!”

Greg pulls the door open and glares at us. “You’re late. I had to avoid Peach’s call to buy you some time.”

We glance at each other, suppressing smiles. No way will either of us apologize, and Greg knows it. He’s already dialed his cell phone, holding it to his ear.

“Hey.” Greg pauses. “Yep, I’m here with both of them. Uh-huh. No, neither of them smells like alcohol.”

I roll my eyes, and Matt laughs.

“Yes, I will walk up with Reagan to her room.” Greg props the door to his room open and steps out into the hallway. He gestures for me to come with him.

“Oh my God, Peach,” I say loudly, leaning into the phone. Matt squeezes my hand, and I follow Greg to the elevator.

“Good night!” Matt calls, and I roll my eyes at the situation. Honestly. So embarrassing. I cross my arms while Greg chitchats with Peach. When we reach my floor, Greg holds the elevator door until I’ve opened my own hotel door.

The hotel suite is eerily quiet and unmoving. On the one hand, I’m pleased to have the whole place to myself. I can sleep in the center of the bed, alone. But this just serves to remind me that, in a few weeks, I’m back to life in Nashville. No more spending every moment with Dee, and I can’t even process how much I’ll miss her, even her sleep-kicking.

I grab my phone, suddenly needy for best-friend contact. Weird to be here without you.

In a moment, my phone beeps. I know. Weird to be here too.

Things good at home though?

Yeah. Feeling much better.

Good. See you tomorrow morning.

Good night!

I change into a tank top and pajama shorts, and then slide on my slippers. I’m brushing my teeth when my phone beeps, and I wonder what Dee forgot to tell me. But when I glance down at my phone, it’s from Matt. Come down here?

Don’t have to ask me twice. I check my reflection in the mirror, only to see that I look giddy, my mouth in a can’t-help-it kind of smile. I pull a hoodie out of my suitcase and zip it on. Then I unzip it a little.

I can’t take the elevator, because it will beep when it opens right in front of Greg’s door. So I take the stairs, texting Matt as I do. On my way.

One floor below, Matt’s peeking out his door, and I scamper inside.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door behind me. “I need you to do me a favor.”

When I turn around, I see a desk chair sitting in the middle of the room with a hotel towel draped across the back. Stranger still, he has newspaper spread out on the floor around the chair. On the desk, something small is plugged into the wall—an electric razor.

“Haircut,” Matt says, in case I hadn’t figured it out yet.

I turn to look at him. “I don’t know how to cut hair.”

“It’s not cutting. It’s buzzing.”

“You’re buzzing all of your hair off?”

He nods. “It’s time. No more boyish.”

“We were only teasing you. I like your hair!”

“Me too. But it’s time for a change.”

“I don’t know how to buzz hair, either.”


“It’s easy. I’d do it myself, but I can’t see the back.”

“Don’t you and Dee have access to, like, trained hair professionals?”

He sighs, impatient. “Yes, but I want to do it tonight, right now, before I back out.”

“You’re insane,” I say, but I still take my place behind the chair. He drapes the towel over his shoulders while I examine the razor, feeling its weight on my palm. I slide the On button up, and it vibrates to life in my hand.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I wince as I bring the razor near his hair.

“That’s reassuring.” Matt laughs. “Keep saying that.”

I pull the razor through a piece of hair in the back, too nervous to start at the front. A clump of hair falls to the floor, and I consider clicking the Off button. I should leave him to his own devices and have no culpability in the results.

He senses my hesitation. “Reagan, seriously, you can’t mess up a buzz cut.”

I keep going until it’s too late to turn back. My hands move methodically, without thinking too hard about what needs to happen, and it only takes a few minutes for most of his hair to be gone.

“Okay.” I pause to examine my progress. With my arms raised, I can’t seem to get enough control to steady the razor perfectly. “Can you move to the floor?”

I sit on the edge of the bed, and Matt settles himself in front of me and leans back. Draping my legs over his shoulders to steady myself, I examine an uneven patch, formulating my approach. Matt runs his hands up my bare legs, turning his head to kiss the inside of my knee.

“Stop that,” I tell him. “Do you want me to mess this up?”

I feel his shoulders moving in laughter. I guess it’s flattering, that he cares about kissing me more than he cares about having a bald patch on the back of his head.

I pronounce it finished, and he turns around to face me, on his knees and still in front of me. Without his longer hair, attention draws right to his eyes. His cheekbones look more defined, and so do the muscles in his neck. The haircut accomplishes its purpose: boyishness gone. I don’t see Matt Finch of the Finch Four. I just see Matt.