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I heaved a huge sigh of relief. Not because he had just agreed to let me cut his hair, but because the teasing banter that I’d feared was gone was back now in spades.
*
I hadn’t lied. I really did work in my local hair salon as a teenager. But in truth, beyond trimming my own fringe every now and then, I wouldn’t exactly say I was qualified to call myself competent. Ryan would certainly never have let me anywhere near him with a pair of scissors, and yet Mitch seemed far more trusting.
‘Where do you want to do it? I guess the bedroom probably has the best mirror.’
His suggestion panicked me. ‘No. Let’s do it in here. It’ll be easier to sweep up, and it’s better if you don’t see what I’m doing until I’ve finished.’
Mitch chuckled softly. ‘Not the most inspiring thing to hear, but you’re the boss.’
‘Maybe you should damp down your hair in the bathroom while I gather some things together. There’s a shower head over the bathtub.’
‘Yes, I know. I fitted it,’ Mitch said, clearly finding my nervousness amusing.
I waited until I heard the drum of water from the bathroom pipes before dashing to the bedroom and collecting towel, comb, and a pair of sharp scissors. I laid them out like surgical instruments on the kitchen table.Music– that’s what we neededto relax the atmosphere, I decided, switching the radio to an easy-listening station. It was a little worrying to see how much my hands were trembling as they turned the dial. If Mitch came out of this with both ears intact it would be nothing short of a miracle.
He returned to the kitchen, leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail of water droplets on the quarry tiles. ‘I wasn’t sure how wet you wanted it.’
My smile was a fixed rictus. Everything he said sounded like a smutty double entendre from a teen movie. The only way to get through this was to be completely professional.
‘It looks fine,’ I said. I nodded towards the kitchen chair that I had re-positioned in the centre of the room. ‘Take a seat.’
His hair was too wet to cut, so I reached for the towel and rough dried it vigorously.This is okay, I told myself.It’s like towelling off our old dog after a walk in the rain. It probably wasn’t the most flattering comparison, so I didn’t share it with Mitch as I reached for a comb and began to run it through his hair. Even damp it was thick and springy beneath my fingers.
How had I never noticed how intimate it was to cut someone’s hair? There was so much touching: of hair, skin, and face. And you had to stand so unbelievably close. I had slipped out of his denim jacket, but the strappy T-shirt I was wearing beneath it, with its low scooped neckline, was a huge mistake. It was a rookie error that no bona fide hair stylist would make.
‘I’ll start at the back,’ I announced, moving to stand behind the chair, which felt much more comfortable. The first snip of the scissors was the most terrifying. My heart was beating so fast I could see its rhythm through the fabric of my top, and yet Mitch appeared supremely relaxed. His confidence in me was misplaced, but really rather sweet.
‘Don’t sweat it. It’s only hair. It’ll grow back.’
‘I don’t think the same can be said of your ears,’ I quipped.
His laughter relaxed me and I allowed my hands to take over, teasing the hair through my fingers, snipping, and shaping. The banter quietly died away as I concentrated on the task, surprised to discover how my breathing had changed. It was faster and more shallow than normal, but then, oddly, so was Mitch’s.
I was modestly pleased with the job I had done of the back and sides of his hair. Now all that was left was the front. I switched positions, but Mitch’s legs were so long it was physically impossible to get close enough to cut the hair that framed his face.
‘Is this easier?’ he asked, spreading his legs for me to stand between them.
‘That’s great,’ I said, my voice so low it sounded as though I had just contracted laryngitis.
His face was level with my cleavage, a place no one had been for longer than I cared to remember. ‘Perhaps you should close your eyes,’ I suggested. ‘I don’t want you to get hair in them.’ He did as I asked.
I think I must have known that something was going to happen between us. I could feel it like a sudden change in the climate. I was running my hands through his hair, making sure it was all the same length, while trying to shut out the haunting strains of a love song that was playing on the radio.
A small clump of cuttings had fallen onto Mitch’s closed eyelids, and without stopping to think of the consequences, I did what my mum used to do when she’d trimmed my fringe as a child. Very gently I blew the hair from his face.
Mitch’s eyes sprang open instantly, the pupils so large it was hard to even see the place where they merged with the dark brown irises. We were so close that his gasped expelled breath mingled with mine. I was caught in his eyes as though they were headlights, seeing into and then through me. I still don’t know ifhemade the first move, or whether it was me. I just know that suddenly his lips and mine were together. If I had ever paused to wonder what it might be like to kiss Mitch, I’d always imagined it would be slow, sweet, and tentative. But nothing could have been further from the truth. I hardly recognised myself as I fiercely crushed his lips and met his searching tongue with mine.
The scissors slipped from my hand, miraculously not impaling my foot before hitting the floor. But their clatter broke the spell we were under. We separated abruptly, both breathing hard. I was the first to speak. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve no idea what I was… why I—’
‘Donotapologise.’ His voice was just about as serious as I had ever heard it. ‘Don’t make this something you feel you need to regret. Because I don’t.’
His words were confusing me almost as much as the kiss had done. I groped for humour because that had always been the strongest connection between us.
‘I guess you can see now why I lost my job at the salon.’
His hands were so fast I didn’t see them move. They flew up like wings, cupping my face, not allowing me to escape. ‘Don’t make this into a joke, Maddie. Not this.’
