“There you go. All done.” I turn him toward the mirror. “What do you think?”
He doesn’t look at his reflection or touch his hair. He just looks at me through the mirror.
“I still don’t think I’m a two,” he says, making me smile. He seems to ponder his next question for a long moment before asking it. “Are you liking Dogwood Lane?”
“Yup.”
I grab the broom from the corner and start sweeping up the dark tresses. Finally, I look back up at him.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s it? ‘Yup’?”
“Yup.”
“Aren’t cosmetologists supposed to be big gossips? Or chatty? Or something? Harper never shuts up.”
“I’m not a gossip,” I say, thinking of all the magazine headlines I’ve seen in my life. “I don’t believe anything I don’t see or hear for myself. I am chatty, though, I guess. Just with the right people.”
“How does one get to be the right people?”
I refuse to make eye contact even as he follows me in a circle in his chair. Before long, there’s no hair left to sweep.
“How do you get to be one of the right people?” I ask, repeating his question. “Well, there’s a checklist, and it’s ridiculously hard to meet all the requirements.”
“You know, I’m really good at checklists. Dane gives me one every morning, and I nail it. I’m also an expert at nailing stuff.”
A soft snort comes out of my mouth. “I bet you are.”
“I am. Want me to show you?”
He grins like the cat that caught the canary. It’s a dimple-displaying, shit-eating, “I can be as naughty as you want me to be” grin that leaves me grabbing for the edge of the workstation.
“No. I just want your fourteen dollars,” I say.
Instead of getting up, he stays planted in the seat. The grin slips away into a look of confusion. “So, um, want me to pick you up tonight? Or tomorrow? Whatever works best for you.”
“So, um, no. I just want fourteen dollars. Thanks.” When he doesn’t move, I laugh. “Do you get told no often?”
He smiles weakly. “That’s what this is? We’re done here?”
“Yes. I cut your hair. I dusted your neck. I made small talk. What more do you want?” I hold out a hand as his lips part. “Don’t answer that. I walked right into it.”
“What more do I want?” he asks. “Well, how about a date—proof of nailing abilities optional.”
He flashes me a smile that I’m certain usually gets him whatever he wants. Unfortunately for him, I’ve seen smiles and heard promises all my life. Smiles that drip with sugary-sweet deception. Promises that are hollow because there’s no intention of them being honored. I’m done with that.
Still, if this were a different time and a different place—like LA a few months ago—I totally would’ve taken him up on his offer. It would’ve been my pleasure. But once you have an epiphany and promise yourself you’ll do better, you have to at least try.
I can’t give in to the first hot guy who asks me out. It would be unfair to myself to throw away the hard choices I’ve made recently and be coaxed by a sexy smile . . . even if it’s with a guy whose pheromones seem to be specifically made to lure me in.
Damn it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m busy.”
“I can be free whenever.”
“I’m busy then too.” I motion at the sign on the wall. “I take cash and checks. No credit cards yet because my swipe-box thing hasn’t come in the mail.”
He looks at me warily as he lifts out of his chair. Grabbing his wallet, he takes out a twenty and hands it to me. “Here you go. Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Our hands touch as I take the money. My lips part as I pull away, my skin burning like it’s been buzzed with a shock of electricity.
“No, thank you,” he says. He gives me a long glance before turning around. “You need me to wait and help you to the car, Lorene?”
“I’ll help her,” Harper says, glancing at me before looking back at him. “You probably need to recover from being turned down, anyway, don’t ya, Penn?”
He chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think that qualifies as being turned down.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “She’ll cave eventually.”
“Good luck with that,” I call out.
“No luck needed.” He has the audacity to wink.
“You’re right. Luck will do you no good,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
It’s more of a defensive posture than anything else, a way of putting a barrier of some sort between the two of us. His energy knows no bounds, though, and pummels me right through my limbs until he pulls his gaze away.
“So, you’re getting Ms. Lorene to her car when she’s done?” he asks Harper, obviously stalling.
“Yes, for the second time,” Harper says with a laugh. “Still in the process of making Lorene even more beautiful.”
“I don’t know how that’s possible,” he says.
Lorene holds out her hand. It trembles in the air as Penn takes it in his. “You’re a good boy, Penn.”
“Take care of yourself.” He presses a kiss to her cheek.
I watch the gentleness with which he treats Lorene, and I want to kick myself for turning him down. But I have to. I know it.
“See ya, Harp,” Penn says.
He opens the door. Sunshine and fresh air fill the room. My body pulls in that direction, wanting a final glimpse of him before he disappears outside. My brain tells me to fight the urge, that giving in is a signal I’m desperate. That’s not accurate or pretty.
Still, at the last second, I turn around. Penn is watching me.
“If you need help with that speaker, give me a call,” he teases.
“I know how to handle a tool.”
His eyes light up. “Glad to hear it.”
“I bet you are.”
He grins. “I really am an eight.”
Laughter topples out of my mouth.
“Get out of here, Penn,” Harper says.
“I’m going. I’m going.” He starts to leave but stops again. “See ya around, Avery.”
“I . . .”
The rest of the sentence doesn’t come out before the door closes. It’s just as well. What I was about to say—that I hope he doesn’t see me around—would’ve been a lie.
I hope I see Penn Etling around. I just hope even more that I can control myself, because for the first time in years, being around a man felt . . . good. Easy. Enjoyable on a totally organic level. If I can keep my wits about me, I’ll be fine. If not, it’s a mess waiting to happen.
Trouble. I smile to myself. That boy is definitely trouble.
CHAPTER FIVE
PENN
I tap the wooden plank with my boot. There’s no give, no wobble, and that godforsaken brick that Lorene had stuck under it is gone.
“That should do it,” I say, admiring my handiwork.
A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead. I catch it with the back of my hand as I bend to pick up my tools.