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"Well, thank you, Rose," I say, followed by a scathing glare at Jasper. "Actually, I need your help. I have a date with my stylist Friday night and no idea where to take her."

"Date? Stylist? Friday?" Jasper echoes like a deranged parrot.

"Hey, that's great," Rose says warmly—an unusual temperature for Rose. "What's she like?"

I sink into the leather captain's armchair, appreciative of the extra springs Emmett insisted we add to the design. It's been one of our best sellers over the years.

I resist fingering my hair again, but can't help the deep sigh.

"She's young."