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“Not if you do haircuts here.” She smiled back wh
en his paternal gaze took in the mess on her head.
“I do only men’s haircuts. Maybe you try the ladies stylist in Cherry Hill?”
“No need.” She climbed into the chair next to his customer who was peering at her from the depths of the hot towel with as much curiosity now as the barber. “No styling necessary. Just chop it all off.”
His bushy grey eyebrows launched up to his receding hairline. “Are you sure?” He untied her hair and ran his fingers through the knotted strands as best he could, arranging it across her shoulders and letting it fall down her back.
The heavy weight felt cloying, not unlike the last few years of her career as a supermodel. Cloying and vain and vacuous.
“It is very beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the hair between his fingers as if testing the texture.
No it isn’t. It’s a burden.
A burden she no longer needed. Or wanted. Her hair was the last of the remnants from her old life. She wanted it gone now she was finally ready to make a new start. Not just as a sober person. But as a person who had purpose beyond the pursuit of vanity and fame and money. This was part of the old her. A part she hadn’t been able to lose straightaway, but one she was more than ready to lose now.
Plus she couldn’t think of a better way to stop herself getting recognized than to lose the one thing that had become such an important part of her brand.
“I’m positive.” She smiled at his reflection, already feeling lighter inside. “Hack away.”
Chapter Four
‡
Ty grappled one-handed with the knot on his tie as he closed the marina’s security gate. The sun scoured the worn uneven boards as he made his way down the rickety gangplank to the boat dock. Sweat slicked his brow as he tugged off the tie and shoved it into the pocket of the suit jacket slung over his arm. His stride corrected itself naturally to the rocking as he walked past the haphazard row of barges moored to the dock, the soft thunks as they jostled together matching the gentle thud of his footsteps. This was what he loved about living on the barge. The peaceful oasis in the middle of Brooklyn. But right now he was ready to crash headlong into bed.
Damn, this had been the longest day ever. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes open during his last case. Luckily, the plea on behalf of a group of small businesses facing the foreclosure of their loft in Red Hook had been straightforward, because he’d done his homework. But he needed to sleep for ten hours straight now.
He sent up a small prayer of thanks for the long weekend. He needed the break.
He waved at Mr. Genero as he passed the retired traffic cop’s barge. The old guy was sipping a beer on his deck with his fishing line over the bow like he did regular as clockwork every Friday evening at six o’clock—even though to the best of Ty’s knowledge he’d never caught a thing.
“Hey, Mr. G. Getting a jump on the Labor Day weekend? Maybe you’ll get lucky and catch something this evening?”
“That’s the general idea, sonny.” The guy lifted his can of Bud in a familiar salute, and Ty cracked a smile in return. He was thirty-two, a qualified attorney with three years’ experience working for the Legal Aid Society, and the oldest of five grown children, but he’d always be sonny to Mr. G.
“Although, even if I catch a fifty-pound tuna, I’m not gonna get as lucky as you this evening.” Mr. G’s genial smile took on a saucy tilt. “Caught yourself one hell of a looker this time out. If I was forty years younger I’d fight you for that sweet girl myself.”
A looker? Sweet girl? Who the hell?
And then it dawned on him. The heat which had been lying dormant most of the day seared his insides at the vision of just who had been sleeping naked in his barge when he’d left that morning.
Obviously the old guy had spotted Zelda leaving. The pulse of heat was quickly tempered by the tug of regret. Which he ignored. The last thing he needed or wanted was some high maintenance princess messing with his weekend of R and R.
“If you were forty years younger, you’d beat me to her for sure,” he shouted back, enjoying the old guy’s chuckle if not the annoying heat in his crotch which refused to die.
Perhaps he should see about getting some real sex over the next couple of days. Because all the fantasy sex he was having wasn’t exactly taking the edge off. But even as the thought occurred to him, he remembered Shelly giving him a roasting for forgetting to call and knew he couldn’t hit on her again. He’d tried real hard not to mislead Shelly, and told her straight out he wasn’t looking for anything too heavy. But when he slept with a woman, he owed her respect. His mom had drummed that into him and his brothers as a kid. So calling Shelly again felt wrong.
He only had room for one passion in his life at the moment. And that was the law and what he could do with it to help the most vulnerable members of his society. Getting laid would have to wait until he had enough downtime in his schedule to date properly and start the search for his Miss Right, a woman who would have the same background and priorities and ambitions and unshakeable work ethic as he did.
He gave a weary sigh—but given his current workload, he’d be unlikely to find enough downtime in his schedule to hit on Miss Right until his fiftieth birthday. No wonder he’d gotten a little sidetracked by Zelda and her spectacular rack.
He swung open the low gate on the house barge’s front deck and stopped, disconcerted by the sight of the two deck chairs he’d had stashed in the back, now out and proud and furnished with plump pillows. Where had those girly cushion covers come from? And what had happened to the mound of beer cans he’d been saving to take to the recycling? Or the used battery that doubled as a footrest?
Then he turned to the barge’s sliding glass doors, and the sunshine glinting off the glass nearly blinded him. He did a double take, to make sure he hadn’t walked onto the wrong barge. But no, this was his boat, the sign with his name and the slip number to the right of the door confirmed that.
He frowned. Why the heck was the brass nameplate gleaming like a brand new penny, too?
