Chapter 2
The bell above the door jingled, sending a rush of anticipation through Chelsea. She had noticed the man from across the street. His hair was already short, unless he was aiming for a military haircut.
He was handsome, to be sure, about her age, in his early forties and she couldn’t help but hear Eve’s and Mary’s voices echo in her mind when she saw him. “I said I’d think about it. I’m not ready for a date.”
She turned, but it was too late. He was already standing in front of her, his eyes half-amused as he looked at her. The corners of his eyes crinkled, showing the easy humor she could already sense in him.
“I wasn’t asking you on a date, but should I ever decide to, I guess I’ll have to wait until you're ready for it.”
Appalled, Chelsea tapped her fingers on the glass countertop, ignoring his cheekiness. She could feel the stain of heat on her cheeks, vowing she had to remember to keep her thoughts inside her head and not speak them aloud. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I need a trim.”
“Okay, if you’ll give me a second, I can help you.”
For some unforeseen reason, she had to put distance between them. With her back turned, she could feel his stare. It was just her and Eve, who was working in the back storage room between clients, for the moment.
Before she could finish setting up her space and ensuring she had everything she needed, the man in question, with whom she knew nothing about, was sitting down in her chair. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Chelsea bit down on her annoyance. He’d not given her more than five seconds to fix things, and she’d not had lunch yet today.
Her belly was empty, and her head ached from too many smells, and the constant drone of Amber's chatter while getting her hair styled was enough to make her want to go home.
“Sorry for saying this, but you don’t really need a haircut, I mean?—”
“I know I don’t have much, but I still have some, so just a trim. However you want to do it is fine with me.”
Hearing that, she couldn’t help but glare at him through the mirror. Her first thought was to take the razor and shave it all off, then she thought better of it, smiling to herself, having never seen him before.
After a few deep breaths and tools primed and ready, she got down to business. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new in town?”
“You could say that, yes. I’ve been here before on business but never took the time to really look around. Nice place, quaint, friendly people, and, of course, the beauty is remarkable.”
Her mind began to clear, but she kept glancing at his face. He was handsome, though not in the usual way most women liked. When their eyes met, her heart fluttered, making it hard to concentrate on what she was supposed to do.
“Oh, no, I?—”
“Ouch, what did you do? I hope you didn’t make me look ridiculous back there. I know it's the back of my head, but the last thing I need is everyone staring at my head from behind when I’m working.”
Embarrassment flooded her system. One glance down at the hair above his neck, and she swallowed the words she’d been about to speak, thinking better of it. “Well, it’s not. Let me see if I can…”
There was no way to fix it. She had shaved a bald spot on the back of his head, and it was big enough to notice. There was nothing she could do now.
Her mind raced with things she could say, hoping to find a way to make him feel better about her mistake.
“What’s the matter? Let me see.” Angry eyes stared back at her as Chelsea tried to figure out what to say. The last thing she needed was a bad review after all these years, and from a new person in town.
“Hold on, let me just…”
She gently ran her comb over the spot, hoping she could shift what little hair he had to make it less obvious, but her silent wish didn’t work.
“Let me see. Give me a mirror or something. I want to see. I can’t believe?—”
His irritation was climbing with each passing second, and Chelsea realized she had to be honest. It was the only way to make things right. “Okay, hold on, let me get the mirror.”
She knew that a quick debate about new hairstyles and what the young men were wearing wasn’t going to go over big with this man. “Okay, here, let's have a look. I slipped, we were talking, and I got lost in the?—”
She stopped, seeing the anger in his eyes, knowing that telling him she’d gotten dizzy and flustered because he was in her chair would sound ridiculous and unbelievable for a woman of her age.
“I don’t want to know how you did what you did, but this is unacceptable. I just got here, and already I have a bad taste in my mouth. How long have you been in business, six months? I’m not paying for this and?—”
Never one to let a customer leave unhappy, there wasn’t much leverage Chelsea had to offer this man—waxing, tanning, and nails were out. She went with the only option she had at her fingertips—the young men who sometimes came into her salon.
“I could do something unique. It's all the rage these days among young men, with haircuts designed as art. I could make something for you, understated and masculine without being immature.”
“No, thank you. I think you’ve done enough. I want to speak with the owner.”
He stood up, towering over her, rubbing the back of his head as if she had just shaved off what little hair he had left. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down, even though she didn’t know his name. “You’re speaking to her.”
“Really?” He laughed, the sound sending waves of anger through her body.
“What is that supposed to mean?” She knew she was being unprofessional at this point and probably a little petty, but this guy was taking a minor issue way too far. Folding her arms over her chest, she waited.
“Well, apparently, you need to go back to school. You have me in the chair for less than five minutes for a very simple hair trim, and you can’t even do that right.”
He looked around the salon with a critical eye. Chelsea was sure he was noticing every problem in the building. She knew those issues better than anyone and was grateful the city inspectors did, too—and that they hadn’t shut her down yet.
He had her so flustered that it took Chelsea a few heartbeats to realize she was holding her breath.
Inhaling sharply, she knew there was no doubt she had to take charge again.
“Listen, I can offer you another haircut in a few weeks when everything grows. I can offer you anything you want, tanning, although I don’t think you?—”
“I don’t want tanning or you touching my hair again, thanks.” Instinctively, she followed him to the door, jumping back when he turned to face her.
“You know I just got into town, trying to help out an old friend and save his business, and now I’m going to be the laughing stock of the office, looking like one of those teenagers I saw walking by not long ago.
If I’d just remembered to visit my barber in Manhattan before I’d left, none of this would have happened. ”
He seemed to be talking more to himself than to her, glancing around the room so quickly she could barely follow. When his eyes finally met hers, she felt it—the kind of look every woman recognizes. All she could think was, Why him, of all people?
“I’m sorry, again. Whatever I have to do to fix this, I’ll do it. It wasn’t my intention. I’ve been in business a long time and have many regular customers.”
“Women, I’m sure. Women who don’t notice the small things. I pay attention to detail, especially details related to my image and how people view me.” His groan said it all.
When she could take no more, she moved around the counter to put distance between them and thought.
“Well, welcome to town. Dragonfly Cove is a wonderful place for you and your family. Business and pleasure all intermingle so well here that you’ll feel like you're always on vacation, even when working.”
The man in question turned, his body facing the glass door leading out, hands in his pockets. He seemed thoughtful. Chelsea was certain it had nothing to do with a bad haircut.
“Well, at least you’ve given me a diversion; I should be grateful. I can be annoyed at something else for a few minutes. So tell me, as a favor, since you owe me, do you read the newspaper?”
“Well, I…I mean, sometimes, I like to read it, but with all the stuff you find on the internet, it's just not as entertaining as it used to be. I like to know what’s going on in our local area, like festivals, news, crime, whatever, but it’s lacking something; I’m not sure what. Why do you ask?”
“Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
Chelsea turned at the same time the stranger in town did. Eve, standing eager to assist, smiled.
“No, I'm good. The view is nice out there and in here, for that matter. Your boss already made my day extra special, but thanks.”
“Oh, well, she’s the best of the best in this town. No one can cut, color, or style hair like her. She’s amazing, and your name, sir?”
Chelsea felt a quiet relief, grateful her sidekick always knew when to ask the right questions. Her thoughts were still spinning with embarrassment over her honest mistake.
“Grant. The name is Grant. And you are?”
Chelsea noticed his tone shift as he reached out to shake Eve’s hand. Eve was considered the ideal of beauty by nearly every man in Dragonfly Cove. “Eve, and you’ve met Chelsea.”
Their eyes met. She saw anger flicker in his gaze, hidden by thoughts and questions she could almost feel. Without thinking, she reached out and shook his hand, a sharp thrill running through her when their skin touched.
“Chelsea, interesting name.”
“Thanks.” Shaken by the depth of his stare, she shifted from foot to foot, unsure of where to go with the emotions he was stirring up inside her.
“Just being honest.”
“Well, who doesn’t appreciate honesty?”
Still feeling mad, Grant shelved it, letting his usual easygoing nature take over. He’d categorized it in his mind, pushing it to the back of his mind. She’d ruined his hair. Yeah, it was an annoyance, and either he could forget it or spend the rest of the day belly-aching about it.
Something about her made him reluctant to go. Unsure whether it was the verbal banter, his emotions, or the story he saw in her eyes, he wasn’t in a rush.
She was not his type, per se. She was beautiful, but not someone he’d ever consider dating. He preferred the long-legged, slender, almost willowy women like her employees, who were mysterious, thoughtful, and less chatty.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave, and Eve, the woman behind him, was not the cause. The only thing he could attribute it to was the story he saw behind her eyes. As a long-time editor in Manhattan, instinct always got him.
He could smell it and sense it when someone had a story to tell, and Chelsea had one. She might never share it with him, but he knew there was something.
“I have a lot of connections in New York, lots of places, if I’m perfectly honest. Connections are important, and the next time you cut someone's hair, you might be wise to remember that. Not that I’m going to waste the good resources I have, contacts here and there, on some tiny beauty shop, but I could if I wanted to get this haircut. ”
Grant only caught the tail end of the face she made as he turned sideways to regard her.
“Yes, well, connections and networking aren’t everything, especially here in this town.
You could be the mayor's son, and no one really cares. Everyone treats everyone with respect, and it doesn’t matter who you are.
What happened with your hair could have happened to the mayor himself, and he’d not act this way. ”
Grant knew it was pointless. He’d run into many people in his life who didn’t care for such things. Still, he thought it best to make sure she understood, as one never knew when someone important would enter her shop.
If it were up to him, her salon making the news would be enough to drive her long-standing business out of town, but he didn’t have the heart to actually do it.
His body wouldn’t move when he mentally forced himself to grasp the door handle and open it, hearing the bell jingle. “I wish you both a good day.”
Grant closed the door behind him, with no doubt that he’d be haunted by those eyes for the rest of the day and probably the night, too.
Taking a moment to think before heading to the newspaper, he heard a familiar, unforgettable sound, loud enough to awaken the laughter of young children from a distance.
His eyes drifted in the direction of the sound, a smile touching his lips in near disbelief at the sight a few hundred yards away.
“They still have an ice cream truck running around this town?”