“It’s a haircut, Naomi,” he said dryly.
I shook my head. As a woman, I inherently understood that a haircut was rarely just a haircut. “No. It’s more than that. You’re changing the way the world sees each one of these people. And you’re changing the way they feel about themselves.”
“Shut up,” he said gruffly. But the corner of his mouth lifted, and then he was plucking the coffee out of my hands, putting it on the table next to the stack of shirts, and pulling me into his chest.
“You shut up,” I said, planting my hands on his shoulders.
“Where’s Way?” he asked, those blue eyes searching for her.
Damn it.
That stupid golden glow was back and threatening to burst out of my chest. The man had spent the day giving homeless men and women haircuts. Then he’d brought me coffee and was now on alert, making sure Waylay was safe. He was as protective of her as he was me.
I was a goner.
“She’s over there with Shirley,” I said, pointing in the direction of the playground where Waylay was pushing a little girl on the swings while Shirley led some kind of game.
Waylay spotted us watching her and waved.
I waved back, that glow in my chest refusing to budge now.
I needed to get out of here. Away from those strong arms so I could remind myself why we wouldn’t work. Why we weren’t really together.
Because Knox didn’t want to be. Because when it came down to it, no one ever really chose me.
That mean little voice did the trick, popping my pretty little balloon of hope like a dart.
Knox tensed against me, his hold tightening.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Got yourself a girl, Knox?” a thin, reedy voice asked.
I turned in his arms to see the man who’d been in Knox’s chair earlier. Now rather than looking like a lost soul, he looked years younger. A silver fox with his hair cut short and swept back from his face. His beard lay neat and gray along his strong jawline.
Knox’s arms tightened around me, holding my back to his front.
“Two actually,” I said with a smile, pointing over to where Waylay was giggling at something a boy her age said.
“Pretty,” the man said. “Just like her mama.”
Technically, I could have corrected him. But since Waylay’s mom was my identical twin, I decided to just pocket it as the compliment it was intended. “Thank you,” I said.
“Aren’t ya gonna introduce us?” the man asked Knox as he scratched at his forearm. There was a subtle unsteadiness to his movements.
There were a few beats of awkward silence, which I was compelled to interrupt.
“I’m Naomi,” I said, holding a hand out to the man.
“Naomi,” he repeated. “I’m—”
“This is Duke,” Knox interrupted.
Duke nodded, looking down at his feet for a second.
“It’s nice to meet you, Duke,” I said, my hand still extended.
“Then the pleasure is mine,” he said finally. He accepted my hand, his palm rough and warm against mine. He had striking eyes the color of sterling silver.