Page 82 of Gin and Bear It

“It’s no problem.”

TWENTY-FIVE

JADA

Doing Jeremiah’s hair is easy, but doing my own? I’ve had to hype myself up about it for days. I usually do his the night before I do mine for the momentum (and so I don’t forget to do it), but that doesn’t help the mild dread of taking several hours to get it done.

I wake up before Ash. Pip is curled around his head, asleep, too. Ash said he had insomnia when he first moved in, but he’s out hard right now. His face is relaxed, long lashes against his cheeks. Looking at him this peaceful fills me with calm, too.

I like him way too much, and him being soft and quietly fitting in with my family isn’t helping. But if we were dating for real, we’d still be in the honeymoon phase. I need to remember that before I suggest anything ridiculous about keeping our marriage going.

I slip out when Pip wakes up so he doesn’t catch me staring. CC’s still in the bathroom, so I shut Pip inside our room to make sure he doesn’t try to break in. CC is curious about me but not fully warmed up yet. But that’s okay—I feed him, fill his water, and start the shower.

CC sits right outside of the sliding glass door, staring at me. Wash days are a process, and CC watches every step with rapt attention. He looks so much like Pip that it’s eerie. If I didn’t know Pip’s mannerisms so well, I’d be fooled.

My arms are already a little tired by the time I wrap my hair up in a huge microfiber towel and step out of the bathroom. Pip is smushed up against the door, so I nearly squish him on my way out. He sniffs me all over, like I have traces of CC on me, and presses against the door once I close it.

“Made coffee,” Ash says once I get to the kitchen. He’s in his boxer briefs and robe, his hair a mess. He looks delicious, of course.

“Thanks.” I grab my favorite mug and fill my cup instead of pressing myself against him the way I want to.

The line of when and where we can touch each other is still a little fuzzy. Bed is the obvious spot, but he’s initiated things in the bathroom or the kitchen. And usually it’s very, very clear that it’s not just an affectionate touch. God, I want to bury my face in his neck for a moment. He always smells so good, like citrus and spice.

But I’ll just take this cozy moment of having coffee together.

“What are you up to today?” I ask.

“I was going to listen to this new album a band I like released and clean, I guess,” he says. “Nothing exciting, but it’s been a long week.”

“The fact that you can wake up and want to clean without an elaborate ritual to get yourself in the mood is crazy to me,” I say.

“The music helps.” He puts his toe out for Pip, who butts his head against it. “What about you?”

“I need to do my hair, so that’s basically most of the day,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I have a few shows I want to start, so I’ll have that.”

“Really? It only took two and a half hours or so with Jeremiah,” he says, leaning against the counter.

“Jeremiah has bigger locs than me, so he has fewer to get through. And it’s just easier to do it when it’s someone else’s hair for whatever reason.” I shrug. “I can zone out and let my fingers fly instead of thinking about how my arms hurt from having them up for so long.”

“Makes sense.” He glances at my wrapped-up hair. “Actually, you want me to go to Sarah Jane’s and pick up breakfast? And better coffee than this?”

“Would you?” The coffee machine is straightforward, but Ash’s coffee never tastes the same each time. Some days it’s good, and other days it’s watery bean juice.

“Yeah, it’s no problem. Just text me what you want.” He slams the rest of his coffee like it’s not hot and puts the mug in the sink.

He goes to get dressed and I text him my order. With him gone, I force myself to go get set up in the living room to do my hair.

I bought a new couch secondhand, and it’s more comfortable to lean against than the old one that the ceiling crashed onto. Once I pull up my show, I set up my mirror and tools. Pip finally comes over and sits on couch near me.

I heave a sigh and look up at the patched ceiling, then start. I always have to start in the back—if I don’t, I’ll end up getting tired and only do the front. I get a small section done by the time Ash gets back. He puts down my half-caf pistachio latte and pastries.

“Thank you so much,” I say. I take a long sip of my coffee. “God, that’s better.”

“Want company?” he asks.

“Sure, if you don’t mind watching this show. It’s a sci-fi mystery or something. Bianca said she and Waylon liked it,” I say, scooting over so he can have space at the table.

“I thought you didn’t like sci-fi.” He puts down his coffee and his bag, sitting on the couch behind me.