The day had started out so well, despite not catching anything. Harper had been resistant to his no-work-no-cell rule, but once she started to relax, he couldn’t remember when he’d had a better time fishing. Truth was the fishhadbeen biting, but he’d been so distracted by her he’d let them get away. Seeing the small smile on her gorgeous face as she enjoyed the sunshine was better than catching a sunfish or three any day.
Then she mentioned the makeover—and his insecurities reared up. It was nice of her to say that the women at the auction would want to bid on him, but he knew better. Some would for sure because they wanted to support the ALS charity. But there was no way a bidding war would happen, not over him. That wasn’t realistic.
Still, he’d reluctantly agreed to the makeover, mostly sohe could spend more time with Harper. Then she’d surprised him by wanting to go back home and change when she didn’t need to. She already looked great. No, more than great. She was beautiful.
Then he’d seen something in her eyes he was more than a little familiar with.Self-doubt—a term he’d never expected to associate with Harper Wilson. But all he’d come up with in reply was, “You look fine.”Fine.Talk about underwhelming.
On the way to her house, he’d hemmed and hawed about giving her a more appropriate compliment, but the moment had passed, and he didn’t want to make things awkward between them. He was already feeling enough awkwardness for both of them.
After he dropped her off, his apprehension returned. Should he invite her inside when she came over or just meet her in the driveway as she pulled up? If he did decide to invite her in, did he have time to clean up the house? Should he offer her a drink? A snack? He’d whipped into the grocery-store parking lot and picked up the coffee cake and powdered iced tea, then hurried back home. He was overthinking things, but he couldn’t help it. He ran inside, barely glancing at Senior, who was sitting in his old recliner in the living room, and took a shower. Forty-five minutes and three clothing changes later, he was ready for Harper’s arrival.
Two-thirty came and went. When three rolled around, he started to pace. Was she standing him up? Why would she, when giving him a makeover was her idea? And it wasn’t like this was a date, anyway. He was the one who was making more of the situation than he should. He’d eventuallytalked himself back to the real world, but he’d also sweated through his shirt. After shower number two, he saw that she’d called and apologized for being late. Then he’d felt like an idiot. All that fretting for nothing.
“There you go.” Artie brushed the hair off Rusty’s neck. “A brand-new you.”
He stared in the mirror. The hair on the sides was cut close to his scalp, the bangs and crown were left longer. He kind of liked the style. Even better, his head felt lighter and cooler. Harper knew what she was doing—this was a fine haircut.
“If you use some of this pomade,” Artie said, pointing to a flat can on the counter in front of the mirror, “you can slick the top to either side or to the back.” He turned the barber chair toward Harper. “What do you think, young lady?”
She glanced up from the magazine, then took a long look, her eyes widening. She smiled. “Perfect.”
Her approval helped him relax. If she liked his haircut, he was good to go.
“Now, time to get rid of that beard,” Artie said.
“All of it?” Rusty asked.
“Every scraggly bit.”
His hand flew to his chin. “Long beards are in style,” he said.
“Neat beards are,” Harper said, lifting one eyebrow. “Not the ‘I got lost in the mountains for ten years’ look.”
“That bad, huh?”
Both Harper and Artie nodded. Rusty settled back in his chair. Nothing left to do but give in.
It didn’t take long for Artie to work his barber magic onRusty’s beard, and soon he was clean-shaven. “Your skin’s a little dry, which is normal when you shave off a beard as long as yours. Use some lotion for a few days, and it will be fine.”
Rusty nodded as Artie turned him in the chair to face Harper again. “How does it look?” Rusty asked.
Harper’s mouth dropped open. “I... I...”
“Uh-oh.” He frowned. She’d had a better reaction to his haircut. He’d actually thought the shave was the bigger improvement. Her expression said otherwise. “Guess I should have left the beard,” he muttered.
She got up and dropped the magazine in the chair. She looked at his face, one side first, then the other. “Wow.”
“A good wow, or a—”
“Good.” She took a step back. “Verygood.”
An unexpected thrill raced down his spine. For a split second he enjoyed the feeling, then came back to his senses. He didn’t need to turn to mush over a simple compliment.
“Another satisfied couple.” Artie draped the black cape over the small counter in front of the mirror.
“You mean ‘customer,’” Rusty quickly corrected.
Harper turned away. “We’re not a couple, Artie.”
