The bell on the door clanged and then it was just Becca and himself in the salon. Well, and Libby. Hank got to his feet even as Becca gave him a wary look and approached. Her gaze met his, and his entire body tightened with an odd sort of tension. The good kind. The kind that made his balls tighten.

“Daddy, help me color,” Libby insisted.

He stepped back and touched Libby’s hair and then grimaced, because the pink glitter was hell to get out of his beard and it always seemed to end up there. “You color it for me, baby girl. I have to talk to Miss Becca.” Hank headed toward the chair, where Becca hovered nervously. He said nothing as he walked up, and her expression seemed to grow more uncomfortable by the moment.

“Before you chastise me,” she began before he could speak, “the pink in her hair is just a temporary color and will wash out with shampoo. I was going to send a note home with her. It’s not revenge for this morning.” Her cheeks flushed and she nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I keep a lot of bright colors on hand in the salon because little girls love them and sometimes a bit of bribery helps a squirmer stay still the entire time.”

“That isn’t why I’m here.”

Becca blinked up at him. “Oh? What’s going on?”

He completely forgot what he was going to use as his tactic. Apology? Weather? Something else? Hell. Eventually, he just cleared his throat. “Yes.”

She paused, frowning up at him. “Yes . . . what?”

Was he sweating? The room seemed really damned hot. He wanted to wipe at his brow, but he was still wearing his cowboy hat and he was just going to get sweat everywhere if he did—or show her his own messy hair. Hat had to stay on, he decided. He licked his lips.

“You asked me if I would go out on a date with you. Changed my mind. Answer’s yes.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him in surprise. “I . . . oh.”

That wasn’t the excitement he’d expected. Wasn’t she supposed to fall to his feet in blushing gratitude right about now? The look she gave him wasn’t gratitude, though. Or pleasure. It was shock.

“You asked,” he told her accusingly. This definitely wasn’t going how he’d planned it.

“I did,” Becca admitted after a long moment. “I just . . . okay. Yeah. Sure, we can go on a date.” She ducked her head, her long hair falling in front of her face. “I didn’t realize you were interested in me. And this morning—”

He cleared his throat. Yeah, this morning hadn’t gone well. At all. “I’m . . . not good at this,” he admitted.