Becca looked away as he scooped his daughter up, busying herself with the broom. There was loose hair on the floor that had to be swept up, and she needed to clean her nail station. He could just take Libby and go, and that would be that. “Her bag’s behind the counter, packed and ready to go,” she told him. And just to prove that she had no hurt feelings, she gave him a bright smile and then started sweeping as if her life depended on it.

Hank sidled up to her, standing right over where she was sweeping and forcing her to look up at him. “Got a minute?”

Oh, so he wanted to talk now? Her annoyance flared, and in her head, she kept hearing Libby’s voice saying We’re going home once the cows stop having babies. Was he going to tell her he was leaving? Why should she care? It wasn’t like they were serious. It was just one date.

And a hot make-out session on the couch.

Her feelings shouldn’t have been hurt at all.

She gave him an apologetic smile and gestured at the floor. “I’ve really got to clean up.”

“But—”

“Daddy, I have to potty,” Libby proclaimed. “Number two!”

He grimaced, and she hated that she found that so damned endearing. “Mind if I let the princess here stink up your bathroom?”

Her mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “Go over to my house. Next door. I have another haircut coming in about five minutes, so she can take all the time she needs there.”

Hank nodded and gave her a searching look, as if he wasn’t quite satisfied with her answer. Like he wanted to say something, and she tensed up, hoping that he would. That he’d tell her all about his day, or why he’d avoided her, or that he’d had fun last night . . . but he only nodded and took his squirmy daughter out to the porch and then opened the door to her house and stepped inside.

Becca blew out a breath and stared down at the floor.

Why was dating so stupidly hard?

CHAPTER TWELVE

She swept and mopped the floor and tidied things up, deliberately taking her time. Her final appointment for the day canceled, and she stared around her clean salon and supposed it was time to go back to her place. Hank was still there, his truck parked out front, which worried her. That meant a confrontation of some kind . . . either that or Libby had made a dreadful mess in the bathroom.

With a four-year-old, anything was possible, but Becca suspected it was a confrontation. So she steeled herself, preparing to hear the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech from a big, surly cowboy, and closed up shop. She locked the front and went through the side door that led to the back of her house . . .