12. Hannah
Hannah
" T here you go, Marie. I'll see you next week?
" I smile at the older woman, Marie, who comes in to get her hair done by me every Thursday at two.
She's not my usual clientele, but after Nana had moved into the retirement home and met her bridge group, she started sending her friends to me and I didn't have the heart to turn them down.
I mean, business is business right?
Sure, they have an onsite hairdresser at the home for residents with limited mobility, but some of them still want the experience of going into a "real" salon.
She turns and looks in the mirror, beaming at the blue streaks now running through her short gray hair. I've been trying to talk her out of it for weeks now, but today I thought "fuck it". She's pushing ninety but I have to give it to her—it looks good.
My co-workers working at the stations around me all lift their eyes briefly to check her out in the mirrors, little smiles on their faces.
"Looking good, Marie!" Lilah, another stylist in her thirties, calls over her shoulder.
Everyone loves Marie.
"Harold is going to love this," she gushes, turning her head to look at the other side. "He likes it when I'm a little wild."
The statement shouldn't shock me, but it does, and she gives me a stink eye with no heat behind it when I cough to cover my laugh. "Marie, I thought you were dating Bertie."
She freaking rolls her eyes at me and waves me off. "Please. Bertie was stifling. Harold embraces a little bit of crazy."
Her response has me chuckling. "Fair enough." And before I know it, I'm being swept into a hug. The mandatory de-scenter policy ensures that I can't scent her, but given the fact that she's a beta, I know it would be fresh and soothing.
"Thank you dear," she sniffles with her chin on my shoulder. My brow furrows, I have no idea what could have made her upset. "Sylvie was always so proud of you, you know. You were her shining star, and she only ever wanted you to be happy."
Well fuck, now I'm sniffling.
"Thank you, Marie." I pull back, wiping my eyes. "It's been…it's been hard since Nana passed, but I—"
"Hannah, your four o'clock is here." The receptionist calls out, and I give Marie a wry smile before shaking my head and wiping my eyes again.
"Maybe we can catch up another time—Enzo?
" My mouth nearly gapes open at the sight of the man coming towards me.
My station is right next to the lobby, so there's no hiding as I take him in.
A light blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, gray wash jeans and just enough silver threaded through his dark brown hair to make my mouth water.
My true scent match.
Now that I know what he smells like, it feels…
unnatural, wrong , to have him be scentless.
I'm suddenly regretting the fact that I didn't take time with my appearance today.
After washing off last night's makeup, I had opted for just a tinted moisturizer, leaving my freckles on full display, and my ombre-pink hair is thrown on top of my head in a messy bun.
At least the way my apron ties around me accentuates my waist, because otherwise my oversized band tee and leggings—all black, per dress code—are not doing me any favors.
"What are you doing here? I have an appointment. "
"I am the appointment, preciosa ," he rumbles, and Marie's drawn on brows shoot up into her hairline.
I don't know much Spanish but I know enough to recognize he just called me precious.
Ignoring the butterflies that erupt in my chest with that knowledge, I do my best to head off Marie before she inevitably hits on him.
My mouth opens to answer him, but I’m too late.
"Well, hello there, tall, dark, and handsome." Marie flutters her lashes as she looks him up and down, making my omega growl possessively in my chest.
Holy shit. That's new.
Enzo looks between us, brows raised.
"Marie," I hiss, pushing aside my omega urge to tackle the elderly lady, no matter how fond of her I am, "weren't you just talking about Harold?"
She waves me off. "Please. I'm old, Hannah, not dead. I'm allowed to look at him. Besides, he'd be perfect for you ."
Enzo shoots me a wink, making even more damn butterflies swarm in my belly, before he takes a step forward, holding his hand out for Marie.
She blushes furiously and she places it in his hand.
"I am Lorenzo Mendez. It is a pleasure to meet you.
" He presses a chaste kiss to the back of her hand and she giggles before pulling her hand out of his grip.
"Marie," she introduces herself before grabbing her purse and looking between the two of us as if she can somehow sense the draw of the scent match. "And I have a boyfriend to go blow away with my new hair. So I'll see you next week. My ride just got here."
She shoots me a look that says "you better not mess this up" and hurries out the door.
Which leaves me and my true scent match, locked in a staring contest while I feel the curious eyes of my co-workers and their clients on us through the mirrors.
"Why are you really here?" I ask quietly, taking a step forward so the rest of the room can't hear us.
"I brought you something," his left hand, still behind his back, comes into view and I see the small pink bakery box in his grasp.
I tentatively take them, popping open the box and nearly moaning at the smell of chocolate and flaky pastry.
Chocolate croissants.
"What are these for?" I ask, my breath catching in my throat. If this is what I think it is…
"It's a courting present," he says, frowning at my expression. "Not a big one, obviously, but a little nudge in the right direction…" He trails off, his frown deepening the longer I don't say anything.
I can't help it. I've never gotten to the point of courting gifts before. My heart is hammering in my chest, butterflies threatening to burst out of my stomach.
"Listen, I…" for the first time since he walked in, he looks unsure. "Please hear me out. I know what I smelled last night. Which…was incredible. But I can see you're overwhelmed. Get to know me without the influence of scent, beyond the small talk of a typical client conversation. Please."
His deep brown eyes shine with sincerity, and before I can convince myself that it's a bad idea to get to know the man who will inevitably reject me, I'm placing the bakery box at my station and patting my chair. "Have a seat then, Mr. Mendez."
His eyes flash dangerously as he takes a seat and I drape the cape over him. "That makes me think of my dad. If we're going with honorifics, I'd prefer 'Professor', or 'sir'."
Holy shit. Why did that make my thighs clench in need? I'm suddenly very glad that I've invested in the best scent-blocking panties out there, otherwise I'd be in violation of so many different salon rules, the most important one being "NO PHEROMONES".
My mouth goes dry as I grab my spray bottle and comb from my station. "I…um…noted." I swallow, my lips aching to test that boundary. Call it morbid curiosity or a masochistic urge to test his reaction. "Sir."
A low vibration rumbles out of his chest as his dark eyes take me in through the mirror and I clear my throat. "I, um…what are we doing? You just got it cut yesterday."
The purr cuts off and he gives me a wry smile. "The guys and I thought it might be a good idea if I was the one who came and talked to you, and that getting my haircut would be a familiar enough situation that you would feel comfortable talking."
"The guys? You…um…you're talking ?" Why does that fill my chest with a sense of rightness? The unease wants to take over, balking at the opportunity the alphas now have to talk about my flaws together, but I don't say anything else.
"Of course we are, preciosa ." Enzo meets my eyes in the mirror. "We're pack. You bring us together. Me, Austin—"
"I know," I nearly snap, then close my eyes and exhale through my nose.
"I'm sorry." I open them to see only concern in Enzo's face.
"Can you tell me what you want to do with your hair?
I have another client at five." I spray down his hair and comb as I go, knowing that he's not a fan of shampooing.
He gives me a wry smile. "Of course. Let's do a one on the sides, and keep the top maybe…half a finger-length." I can't keep the surprised look off my face. That's considerably shorter than the four he's been keeping at the sides.
Enzo must know what my expression means, because he sheepishly explains, "I…
I made sure to never get it cut too short that I wouldn't have a reason to come back.
Even before I scented you, Hannah, I had a wildly inappropriate crush on you.
Still do, really." I can see my own cheeks turn bright pink in the mirror and he looks at me with a strange expression of…
adoration? "So, despite the fact that I am much too old for you, I continued to keep my hair much longer than I wanted, just I'd still have some hair left for you to cut. "
"You are not too old for me." The conviction in my voice almost shocks me, but then I smile softly as I put down my spray bottle and comb and grab my clippers, making sure the right attachment is on.
"In fact, it makes me a little sad that the sides will almost be too short to see the silver hairs anymore.
They make you look…refined. Distinguished. "
I swear I see his chest puff out a little. "Well, they'll grow back," he says gently. "From now on, when I see you, I want it to be because you want to see me too, not because I keep ambushing you at your job."
So…he’s not going to come get his hair cut by me anymore? The pang of disappointment in my chest is unwelcome and unexpected. Surely he’ll still come in for regular cuts, just not so often—