Two hours later, he had a ring box in his sweating hand and his daughter’s tiny hand in his other one. Hank had tried to think of something clever to say, or a way to slide into the subject of marriage, but he was clueless. All he knew was that he was going to go through that door and talk to Becca, and if she wouldn’t listen to him, he . . . well, he just wouldn’t leave. She had to hear him out eventually, didn’t she? After all, she’d come by that morning to talk and he’d been tongue-tied. Hopefully she’d still be in a talking mood this afternoon.

Libby skipped at his side, all excitement as they headed down the sidewalk toward the salon. He’d parked down the street so Becca wouldn’t see just how nervous he was. He’d have a whole two hundred feet to pull himself together, after all. So he sucked in a deep breath, did his best not to squeeze the life out of his daughter’s hand, and led her toward the salon. At the last moment, he shoved the ring box into his pocket, hiding it.

Becca was sweeping up underneath one of her chairs. She looked up as the bell clanged against the door, and her face went pale at the sight of him.

“Becca!” Libby squealed, rushing forward. She flung her arms out and raced toward the woman, and he wasn’t surprised when Becca discarded her broom and hugged Libby, pulling her into her arms and showering her face with dozens of tiny kisses.

“Libby! I’ve missed you, baby girl! How are you?”

“Me and Daddy are here because—”

Hank cleared his throat, trying not to bark at his daughter before she spoiled the surprise. “Because we wanted to talk to you.”

Becca’s expression immediately grew wary. “Oh?”

He studied her. Couldn’t help but notice that she’d changed clothing from earlier. She’d been wearing tall heels and a dress with entirely too much cleavage that had made him crazy to think about. He’d pictured her leaning over her male clients, shaving them with her big, bouncy breasts in their faces, and he’d nearly come unglued. It seemed like that dress had just been for his benefit, though, because she was wearing one of her favorite outfits—a tunic and striped leggings and a flat pair of sandals. Either she’d come that morning to flaunt herself in his face or there was hope for him yet. So he smiled, even though it didn’t feel natural, and tried to flirt like Jack would. “Can I have a greeting like that?” he asked, indicating his daughter. He’d be all right if she peppered his face with a hundred kisses. He’d sit still for every one of them, too.