CHAPTER ONE
SARA
I lick the tip of my index finger and swipe it across the top of my eyelids, then the bottom, attempting to smudge the mascara I’d applied this morning back into place. It doesn’t work.
I regret the waterproof brand I purchased every day lately.
For one, it doesn’t stick to my eyelashes when I cry.
It sticks to my face. I can’t envision that’s what anyone is looking for.
I imagine most want to be able to have little breakdowns in the backroom without looking like a complete wreck when the next client walks in.
Then again, maybe it’s not common to have emotional breakdowns multiple times a week. I really don’t know anymore.
The bell above the door rings and an unsettled panic squeezes my chest. I’m not ready to socialize yet this morning. Heck, I might not be ready at all today. Last night was another draining argument with Pete.
I don’t have much left, but I have no idea how to leave. Sure, I know what actions to take. I pack a bag, rent a new place, and walk out the door. If it were that easy, I’d have done it already. Trouble is, there’s a part of me that believes him when he says the issues between us are my fault.
I am the one that always wants to talk about my feelings.
I am the one that’s always bringing up new issues.
I am the one who needs to get something resembling resolution before we move on.
I think he’d be perfectly content to play video games, watch sports, and sleep for the rest of eternity if I wasn’t asking for anything.
None of that matters right now, though. Right now, I have to focus on my job. If I ever want to change anything, I need to stay self-sufficient.
This morning, Wade requested an extra early appointment so he could make a meeting on time.
Given he’s a regular and a standard cut, I gladly said yes.
We’re a small shop and I figure the more flexible I can be with my clients, the more reason for them to come back.
Anything to stay competitive with the bigger salon down the street.
I drag in a deep breath, brush my fingers through my hair, and swing open the door, attempting a bright smile as I walk toward the giant waiting at the front counter.
I’m not sure how tall he is exactly, but I know he looks bigger every time I see him.
I’d guess he’s over six and a half feet, with broad shoulders, strong biceps, and these massive hands that look like they could and have fixed everything.
“Morning!”
He nods toward me once and unfolds his arms, which for him, is a smile. “Morning. Sorry I’m a few minutes early. The coffee shop was nearly empty this morning, so I was in and out.” He hands me a carryout cup and a pink paper bag. “You like a mocha latte and a warm croissant, right?”
The tips of his rough fingers touch mine on the transfer and my heart squeezes.
Why is my heart squeezing? Sure, Wade is a handsome guy. He’s also probably twenty-five years older than me. Oh, and I’m engaged.
“That was nice of you!” I take a sip of the hot coffee and set it with the pastry bag down on my station. “You didn’t have to do that!”
He settles down in my chair with a grunt under his breath, as though his back is hurting again. “I was right there and I’m sure you skipped breakfast again trying to get out of the house this morning.” He brushes his thick fingers back to take off his cap and stares at me in the mirror.
I try not to notice how green his eyes are or how impossibly hulking he looks in this flannel.
God, I need to calm down. The man has sat in my chair every other week for a while now. I’m used to his rough and rugged face. I’m used to brushing against his solid shoulders. I’m used to hearing his deep voice. Why am I getting all hot and bothered?
Clearly, I’m starving for affection.
“Well, thank you.” I fasten the cape around his thick neck and run my fingers up through the back of his hair to see what I’m working with.
“You’re right, I didn’t get breakfast this morning.
Jasper was fussing a lot today.” I leave out the part about how I was up all night crying and how I don’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep.
“See, told ya.” He takes a sip of his own coffee and lowers it again, watching me through the mirror as I grab the spray bottle, wetting his hair as I work the water through with my hands.
“Feel free to eat and work. Won’t bother me none.
I put molding on late last night with a burger in one hand.
” He laughs without smiling. “I’ll be glad when this project is done. ”
“You guys are finishing up this week, right? Everyone is talking about the distillery.” I drag in a breath of the cedar scent that surrounds him. “My friend Ivy knows one of the brothers buying the place. She’s pretty happy to have him back in town again.”
Wade nods slowly and takes another sip of coffee. “Yeah, should be interesting. I’m not sure what I think of it all yet but I’m not huge on change. Kinda liked things the way they were,” he shrugs, “but I guess we need to cater to all kinds of folks.”
I comb through his hair as we talk. It’s so nice to have a conversation with someone that doesn’t result in a correction of my opinion or some sort of power struggle.
“I hear they’ll be making all these different types of moonshine.
Not my thing either but I love the mason jars they’re advertising. ”
He readjusts his hands beneath the cape, resting them on the arms of the chair. “Well, the owners bought a huge advertising banner for the rodeo out in the Springs this weekend, so I reckon they’re expecting a big opener come next week.”
“Oh shoot!” I hitch my hip as I gather and eyeball an inch before snipping.
“I forgot the rodeo is this weekend. I wanted to take Jasper. He’s so into cowboys right now.
” I smile genuinely as I recall how happy he was playing in the living room before bed.
“He’s got this stick horse he rides around the house and pretends to wrangle stuffed animals with a slinky. ”
“He’s gotta be getting pretty old.”
“He’ll be three next month.” I grin and make another snip. “I think I’ll do a cowboy themed birthday for him and his preschool friends. Maybe the rodeo can be an early gift.”
Wade tilts his head to the side. “I think tickets are sold out, but y’all are welcome to ride up with me. I have a buddy that’s a bull rider. I bet he could get me some extra tickets.”
I straighten his head again, so the cuts are even, then let the fantasy run through my head as though it’s actually a possibility.
Jasper and I piling into Wade’s lifted truck.
The three of us riding to the Springs with pastries in hand.
Wade telling us old ranching and military stories.
His big, rough hand landing on my thigh.
Oh God!
“Thank you,” I say, quickly, “but I couldn’t go without Pete. He’s—”
“Of course, Pete’s invited too. Sorry if that wasn’t clear.” He lifts his cup again, taking a longer sip this time. “I’ll call my buddy tonight and see what I can do.”
“No,” a sick feeling washes over me, “that’s okay. Pete isn’t really into the whole rodeo thing.” I snip the last few bits of hair before grabbing the clippers off my station.
Another single nod from Wade. “Okay, but he’ll want to go for Jasper’s sake, I’m sure.”
I flick on the clippers, letting the noise fill in the space as tears well in my eyes. I can’t do this right now. I can’t cry. I don’t even know what triggered it. Sure, Pete isn’t in to the rodeo, but I’m sure with a little prodding he’d go.
Desperately trying to focus on the sound of the clippers, I push them across the sides of Wade’s head, sweeping with my fingers as I work to keep the hair from accumulating.
Oh my God! I can’t cry right now!
Stop being a baby! You’re ridiculous. You’re at work. This is a professional conversation with a man that you see a few times a month. You can’t lose his business, let things get all weird, and—
“Hey,” he calls, his deep voice cutting through the noise of the clippers.
I glance toward him in the mirror as the warm heat from a tear rolls down my cheek.
I wipe it away quickly and force a smile. “Yeah?”
“What’s wrong?” His thick brows narrow. “Did I say something?”
“No.” I close my eyes and shake my head as I trim the back of his neck then turn off the clippers. “Sorry. I’m just exhausted. The last few nights have been rough, and I think it’s all catching up with me.”
“Rough how?” He hooks the chair from the waiting area with the tip of his boot and pulls it toward him, nodding toward it as though he wants me to sit.
I brush off the back of his cape and take him up on the offer, though I’m not exactly sure why. I know I shouldn’t sit. He’s my client. A regular client. A client I don’t want to look like an ass in front of.
A moment later he’s handing me the coffee and the croissant from the pretty pink pastry bag he brought in earlier.
“You don’t have to do all this.”
“Rough how?” he repeats, holding the food out in front of me.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head as I brush against his thick fingers again, taking the breakfast. “You know how life goes. Just gets exhausting sometimes. I’m sure everything will pick up again soon.”
He pinches his lips together and nods slowly as though he’s reconciling what he wants to say before he says it.
“I know we don’t talk about him much and I know it’s probably inappropriate for me to even mention it, but I get the feeling this is about the fiancé.
He was the last person you were talking about before you teared up. ”
A heavy breath staggers in, and before I can comprehend my next thought, I’m bent over in tears.
Oh, my freaking God! How do I stop this? Better yet, how do I disappear and restart the day completely?
I try to think about anything. Anything that might get me out of this headspace. The squash seeds I want to plant for spring. The sweater I was looking at on last night. The toothpaste I need to stop and grab for Jasper on my way home.
Anything that might pull me out of this craziness.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lifting my head to take a sip of coffee. “Like I said, I’m exhausted is all. It’s been a long week.”
He tugs his cape off and stands from the chair before reaching for the broom I keep next to my station.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m helping you. You’ve had a long week, and I got you up early for this cut. It’s the least I can do.”
“No.” I shake my head, stand, set my food on the counter, and reach around his massive frame for the broom, but somehow my hand ends up on his bicep.
His big, strong, bulging bicep… and my thighs clench.
Why do my thighs clench?
Slowly, my gaze draws up to his, and there we stand, eye to eye, nearly chest to chest, the warmth of his enormous frame radiating off of him and onto me with a type of comfort I’ve never felt before.
My heart hammers against my ribcage, my mouth drops open, and for a brief second, I want to lean in. I want to lean in and let him give me everything I’ve been needing, everything I’ve been struggling for, everything I’ve been craving, but that can’t happen.
I’m engaged to be married. I have a son. I’m at work.