“What?”
She shuts off the clippers. “Um … nothing. You know … I think I’ll just use the scissors. Clearly it’s what you’ve wanted me to do. And you know what they say?”
“What’s that?”
Gracelyn unplugs the clippers, shoving all the pieces back into the bag before grabbing the scissors and comb. “The customer is always right.”
I nod. “I suppose you do get a lot of requests for styles and colors that you fear the customer won’t end up liking.”
“You guessed it.”
“I filled a spray bottle if you want to wet my hair. It’s over by the sink along with a towel.”
“Whatever the customer wants.” She grabs the bottle and wets my hair … a lot.
“Wow … you used the whole bottle of water.”
“Too much?” She wrinkles her nose while furiously wiping my face, neck, the cape, and even the floor.
“Nah … I like it wet.” I chuckle.
She stops, staring at me with lifted eyebrows and pink filling her cheeks.
“My hair. I like my hair wet. Get your head out of the gutter, Elvis.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s not in the gutter. I was just … just looking at your hair.” Shifting her gaze to my hair, she steps forward and runs her fingers through it, putting her chest inches from my face.
I shouldn’t like her chest in my face, but I do. Just like I like watching her undress and run up her balcony stairs. And the damn short bunny robe … I like it too.
“You’re right. I don’t need to cut that much.” She’s not cutting anything. She’s just combing my hair with her fingers.
I close my eyes because it—she—feels good. Of course, I’ve had women cut my hair before, but they’ve never done it with one leg between mine and their breasts so close. It’s unclear at the moment if she’s trying to give me a trim or seduce me.
She grabs the scissors and makes her first cut.
Snip.
Snip.
Snip.
I keep my eyes closed. Everything she does is slow and gentle. After every few cuts, she combs her fingers through my hair some more. If this haircut lasts all day, I’m good with that. I don’t need a girlfriend, in spite of Morgan’s not-so-brilliant idea.
A good haircut works plenty of magic. I might opt for more frequent trims while we’re here this summer.
“Why the grin?” She rips me away from my thoughts.
I straighten my lips and peek open one eye. “Nothing.”
“I think I should just call it.” She steps back, cocking her head to inspect my hair.
“Call it?” I chuckle. “Sounds like you’re giving up or someone died? Is that what you tell all of your clients when you finish?”
“Oh my gosh, Dad! You’re getting a Mohawk?” Morgan skips into the kitchen.
I glance over my shoulder at my daughter with her hair dried straight and her lips fully glossed. In an instant, I regret letting her get tinted lip balm.
“No Mohawk. Sorry to disappoint you. Just a trim.”
“Then why did Gracelyn shave part of your hair in the back.”
I reach for the back of my head at the same time I face Gracelyn again. She grimaces as my fingertips feel the one-by-two-inch strip of buzzed hair.
“What did you—”
“Listen … the guard came loose on the clippers. I think because they are so old. It will grow back in no time. Really. If you wear a hat out in public, it will be no big deal. And honestly the rest of your hair is long enough and wavy enough that you might be able to style it to cover up the bulk of it. OR …” Her cringe flips into something resembling excitement. “You can wear it in a ponytail. It’s totally in right now.”
Morgan cups her hand at her mouth and shuffles out of the kitchen with wide eyes. “Gabe! Gracelyn ruined my dad’s—” The slam of the door cuts off her voice.
As I wordlessly blink at Gracelyn, she bites her lips together, wringing her hands in front of her.
“So sorry. This has never happened before. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Well … fix it.”
“I can take you someplace, but I won’t touch those clippers again. I don’t trust them.”
My lips part, and I try to keep my jaw from reaching the floor. “The clippers. You don’t trust the clippers?”
“I feel terrible.”
“Mmm … I can see that.” I tear off the cape.
Her frantic apologies and anguish-ridden face lead me to believe she has no intention of fixing my hair. I’m not sure I want her to attempt it at this point. Gracelyn is a lot of things at the moment, but confident is not one of them.
“What are you doing?” She takes a few steps backward.
“Going to get a haircut.” I toss the cape onto the table and brush off my jeans before exiting the kitchen to find a hat in my bedroom.