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Quickly, he stocked her fridge with a few things he’d gotten at the grocery store, then stepped out onto the deck. He wanted to see how she was doing.
She fixed him with an unreadable look and took a sip from her bottle of water. “Julie said you had a lot to handle today,” she said primly. Julie was one of the stylists.
“It was no big deal.”
She rolled her eyes. “She said you didn’t miss a beat, and the customers loved you. The group of older women from Wilmington—the ones who usually come in and cause a lot of problems—were completely taken with you and requested you for the next time they come back for a spa day. They want you to be there to shower them with your SEAL stories.”
He chuckled, glad to hear he was getting good reports, even if they were just from women at the salon. “They were great.”
She gaped at him. “Those women are not great. They are hard women, the kind who are uppity and who like boutique things. I only put up with them because when they come, they spend enough to cover my mortgage in one day, more than it would take me the rest of the month to make up for. I put up with those women because they pay.”
Hunter’s face stretched into a slow grin. He’d realized that as he’d looked through the Excel files she used to keep track of her money. “Well, today they spent double. I told them about how I’d accidentally hit you. They felt so bad for you that they all bought extra product and some gift cards for friends and …” He trailed off. “It was great.”
She gulped back a laugh.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you. How did you charm those women by telling them you hit me? That’s ridiculous.” Her eyes swept over his body. “Well, I guess it’s not. They probably thought you were handsome.”
It was unnerving, the way Cheryse checking him out could put him on edge. Those rich old women had checked him out all day long, but when Cheryse looked at him like that, it did funny things to him. “I don’t know. It seemed like the more bad things I said about myself, the more they wanted to help me. Give me advice.” He gave her a winning smile to conceal his discomfort at the whole day.
She crossed her arms, a little smirk playing at her lips. “I bet they wanted tojustgive you advice.”
He grunted out a laugh. He wouldn’t tell her how many of them had given him their phone numbers. “It was a good day.”
Cheryse met his gaze and said nothing. She turned away and stared at her pots of plants. “Did you know about Kensi?”
He paused. “What about Kensi?”
Cheryse told him about the placenta tearing away from the uterus and how that put her at more of a high risk.
Hunter felt horrible. “How come she hasn’t told me?”
Cheryse gave him an accusing look. “I don’t know. How come you didn’t ask her?”
“You’re right. It’s my fault.” Guilt, ugh. He was the worst kind of brother. Hunter stood and picked up her water bucket. He filled it with water from the hose and then carefully watered her plants. From the look of them, she hadn’t watered them recently. “I’ll go see Kensi.”
They were quiet for a bit.
“Why are you doing this?”
Hunter turned to her. “Because the plants need water,” he said, pausing to trim one.
“Not what I meant.”
He knew what she meant. “Because it’s my fault that your ankle is sprained.”
“Nope.”
He turned to face her. “What? Yes, it is. I’m the one who hit you.”
For a long time, she said nothing. He went back to watering the plants. She offered instruction, depending on which pot he was at. She also told him to get the little dead brown leaves and pull them out, or to “be careful with that one—more of a spritz.”
When he was done, he wound up the hose and put it back. “You hungry for dinner?”
Cheryse shook her head. “It’s an ankle, Hunter. I’ll be fine. I can use your help at the salon, but I’m fine here.”
Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”
