What a perfect time to get a trim.
7
Nicole
Charlotte Bronson had some of the silkiest hair I’d ever run my fingers through. Long and fine. The stuff of shampoo commercials. But it was also unforgiving. Showing every scissor cut if a rooky took a blunt edge approach instead of feathering the tips. She’d grown her pixie out, so I’d exchanged the razor for a pair of shears.
“Should we go for some layers to add a bit of volume?” I asked, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
She tilted her chin, studying the lines of her tresses and how they fell around her face.
“You haven’t steered me wrong in the past. If you think layers are a good idea, then let’s try it.”
I gave her a reassuring smile and traded the wide-toothed comb I’d used to untangle her wet hair for an all-purpose comb. The teeth glided through her locks. A trim of the dead ends took no time at all. Next, the layers.
The sound of the entrance door opening stilled my hand. Felicity usually worked the reception desk, but she’d called in because of a stomach bug, leaving no one to greet incoming clients.
I craned my neck to see past the narrow partition separating individual work stations. Stacy was wrist deep in a color job and hair foils.
My hand slid down to Charlotte’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
“No worries.”
I stepped back and pivoted on my heel, my face arranging itself into a friendly expression. “Welcome to Love is in the Hair. How can we—” The greeting died on my tongue. Not a natural death either, peacefully in its sleep; I murdered it in its tracks. Strangulation by gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?” I managed to choke out.
Drew’s easy smile appeared heavier as he leaned against the reception counter. Dark circles curled under his eyes. Same as I’d seen on Ben’s face after a long shift at the hospital. Horizontal lines ran along his forehead, giving weight to his normal care-free expression.
He ran his fingers through his hair, arresting my gaze. My traitorous eyes watched the motion, mesmerized by the way his hair bounced and rippled with his manipulation. I managed to tear my eyes away only to land on his knowing smirk.
Insufferable, full-of-himself man!
“I’m desperately in need of a cut.” He emphasized the word desperate in a way that made my stomach impersonate Benedict Arnold.
Get ahold of yourself, Nicole. You’re a woman of post-feminism. No one has control over your body but you. Certainly not an overgrown man-child.
My focus narrowed to around his ears. A number one guard would have to be used to get his hair any shorter. Although, the length on top flopped across his forehead in a casual manner, one that would be a crime for gel to try to confine.
“Yes, you obviously skipped a number of appointments at your barber,” I replied drolly. “Unfortunately, all of our stylists are with clients at the moment.” I eyed the door with meaning.
He straightened and turned, and my clenched muscles relaxed. Then he walked to one of the chairs and sat. He picked up a magazine and thumbed through it. “I’ll wait.”
My fingers curled around the shears in my hand. “It could be a while.”
He looked up and locked eyes with me. “I’m an extremely patient man.”
“More like extremely provoking,” I muttered under my breath as I turned to head across the salon back to Charlotte.
“What was that?” Drew called after my retreating back.
I turned and smiled sweetly. “Someone will be with you as soon as possible.”
I retrieved the comb I’d placed in my apron pocket and resumed my place behind Charlotte in the styling chair. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m not.” Her hand poked from under the black cape protecting her clothes from hair clippings and fanned her face. “Who’s the man, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”
If I moved my gaze over a few inches, I could see Drew’s relaxed form reflected in the mirror. I didnotlook over.
“Oh, he’s my daughter’s coach.” And the best friend of the fiancé of one ofmybest friends. And the man who unwelcomingly barged his way into my life with annoying frequency. And the one who made me react irrationally all too often.
