“Uh…” I mumbled, not knowing what to say since what I thought wasn’t good.

“It’s got the wet look now but it’ll calm down when it dries,” he informed me.

I had experience with this, considering my son went from not caring about his appearance to being all about it, this in the expanse of about two weeks. Thus I knew that men’s hair with product that was going to dry did not stick up on end like that.

“How much did you use?” I asked as he sauntered toward me, his gait like his dad’s, except cute rather than hot.

“About half a pudding cup,” he answered.

Oh dear.

“Just to say, kiddo, you’re supposed to use about the size of a dime.”

He’d stopped in front of me, and at my words, his eyes got big. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. You use as much as you did, it’s gonna dry just like that.” And take about three washings to get it out, something I decided not to inform him of at that time since we should be leaving.

“Crap!” he yelled, turned and ran back down the hall.

“Cillian!” I called after him just as the bathroom door slammed. “We need to leave!”

“Two secs!” he shouted back.

“Shit,” I whispered, deciding Aisling first, Cillian second, when the doorbell rang.

“Get it, Amy!” Cillian hollered.

Nothing from Aisling.

“Shit,” I repeated, moving to the door.

I opened it and saw on the stoop a pretty, petite, curvy woman with dark blonde hair who was perhaps five years older than me. She wore attractive clothes, had a great handbag and was staring at me like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hi. Can I help you?” I asked politely.

“You’re Amy,” she replied strangely breathily, like she was winded because she showed up at Mickey’s door after a five K run.

My head twitched at the knowledge she had that knowledge and I confirmed cautiously, “Yes.”

She continued to stare at me, taking me in, then looked away only to look right back and announce, “I’m Rhiannon.”

Oh shit.

“Um…hi,” I repeated.

“Is Mickey here?” she asked.

“No, he’s in town. Meeting at the firehouse. I’m taking the kids in to join him for the town council thing.”

“Right, right. I forgot,” she mumbled, shifting, fidgeting. She then dropped her keys, bent quickly to pick them up and straightened, not looking at me. “I’ll call him.”

“Do you want me to tell him you came by?” I asked.

“Yes, yeah, that’d be good,” she answered, making as if to turn but not doing it and instead saying to me. “Um…thanks.”

“Do you want to say hi to the kids?” I offered quietly.