The bell on the door rings. I don’t bother looking up, putting the last roller into Fran’s hair. Mostly because I’ve been running behind all day.
But the rush of quiet that suddenly blankets the salon makes me peek over my shoulder.
Lo and behold, Gavin Price himself stands inside, smiling at Ginny and Rita. “Hello, ladies.” His voice is sultry and soothing, like a cold glass of iced tea on a hot summer day.
They both smile and whisper to one another before Rita lifts her hand and says hi for both of them. They’re like two teenage girls, I swear.
“Let’s get you under the dryer,” I say to Fran, and she stands from the chair.
I go to loop my arm through hers to make sure she doesn’t slip on any of the hair on the floor, but she quickly shoos me away. “I’m not ninety, Posey!”
I step back and Malia shakes her head.
“Hi, Gavin, what brings you into Fringe?” Malia asks.
Isn’t that my job? But I remind myself that I don’t want to talk to him anyway.
“I’m here to see Posey.” He smiles, and I hate the fact my stomach stirs at the sound of my name coming off his tongue.
“Oh,” Fran says and stops to nudge me with her elbow.
“I heard him,” I murmur. To him, I say, “Give me one minute. I have to get Fran all set.”
“I can do it,” she says, sitting in the chair.
“No, actually, you can’t.” I lower the dome over her head and turn the dryer to the correct setting.
She hits me in the stomach. “Go,” she pretends to whisper when, in fact, she said it loudly enough for a smile to creep up the corners of Gavin’s lips. I’m sure he’s used to women fawning over him.
I walk across the salon, feeling every eye on me. It reminds me of high school when I thought it was crazy hair day, but I was a week early. I couldn’t even take out all the little ponytails all over my head because I’d hair sprayed them.
“What can I help you with?” I slide behind our reception counter, picking up the pencil so I have something to do with my hands.
He runs his fingers through his unruly hair. There’s a slight wave to the texture which I can see being unmanageable if he doesn’t get regular haircuts. “I hoped you might have some time to give me a cut.”
“Sorry, I have Rita next, but Malia—”
“I can wait,” he interjects.
Every woman makes a small sound as though he said something heart melting.
“I’m actually booked for the rest of the day, but like I was about to say—”
“He can take my appointment. You’d probably just cut mine too short like Malia did to Ginny last week.” Rita fluffs up her hair.
Malia growls under her breath.
I slide to the side of Gavin to give Rita a death glare.
“Oh, I’d hate to take your appointment,” Gavin says to Rita before he turns back to me. “I can just wait around and maybe you can squeeze me in at some point. I should only take ten minutes.”
Again, he runs his fingers through his hair, and I can’t even pretend my own fingers don’t tingle with the need to thread through those strands.
Jeez, someone save me from myself.
“Ten minutes is all, huh?” Malia asks.
He turns his attention to her. She smiles softly, like the Southern girl she was born and raised to be.
“I guess I shouldn’t assume. Posey?” His clear blue eyes meet mine as if he stepped off that poster from my wall when I was a kid. He’s so damn hot.
I sigh. “Let’s hurry. I might be able to fit in Rita as well.” I usher him over to the shampoo bowl.
“I’ll make this up to you, Mrs. Ashland,” he says to Rita offhandedly.
“Happy to help, Gavin.”
All the women giggle like preteen girls. Exactly how I would’ve had I met him as a child.
He leans back in the shampoo bowl, and once again, his eyes pierce into mine. A smile forms on his lips and a warm sensation runs down my body. He’s too attractive for his own good.
“Are they looking?” he whispers when I bend over him to turn on the water, never more aware than at this minute how close my breasts are to my client’s face when I do so.
“Um…” I glance over, and sure enough, Fran is staring at us. I nod to him.
I run the water over Gavin’s hair. It’s so silky, my fingers glide right through. His eyes slowly close as I massage the shampoo into his hair.
After I finish rinsing and putting a towel over his hair, his eyes pop open. “That felt amazing.”
I have no idea what to say, so I say nothing. Way to go, Posey.
“She’s good with her hands, right?” Fran interjects and ruins the moment.
I glance over to see that she’s leaning with half her head outside of the dryer.
“That’s what he said,” Nora says from the dryer next to Fran. The two of them laugh, and a small chuckle slips out of Gavin.
I point him toward my chair, where Malia is sweeping up all of Fran and Nora’s hair.
“Don’t trust me, huh?” Malia asks as Gavin settles in my chair.
“Nothing like that. I just…” He looks around, seeing four sets of eyes watching his every move. “I just thought maybe Posey could do it. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m not that sensitive.”
She clears her throat and moves her eyes toward the mirror, where Gavin is watching us with rapt attention.
“So.” I turn all my focus on him. “Just a trim and a cleanup?” I run the towel over his hair and wipe my hands on it before setting it on the counter and grabbing a comb.
“Yeah, it’s gotten way too long.”
We discuss how much he wants trimmed off, and I set up, asking Malia to wash Rita’s hair since this won’t take long.
Gavin watches me work the entire time. When I’m done, he looks so much better, but our conversation was filled with superficial stuff, and I hate myself for being a little disappointed that the only reason he was looking at me was for a haircut and nothing more.
I check him out and he tips me generously, rocking back on his heels as he thanks me for the tenth time.
He lingers, so I ask, with my heart pounding, “Did you need something else?”
“No. Thanks for squeezing me in.”
“That’s what he said,” Nora says from Malia’s chair.
I groan. “Have a great day, Gavin.”
He stands there for a moment, then shakes his head and leaves. The bell rings with his departure. I can’t deny I feel deflated. I kinda thought maybe he was going to ask me out.
“Someone needs to get that man a set of balls,” Fran breaks the silence and everyone agrees.
After living the majority of my life in Los Angeles, the small Alaskan town I’ve found myself in love with is the polar opposite of what I’m used to. My first trip here was supposed to be a getaway. Somewhere to escape the rumors, the gossip, the stigma of being a child star turned adult. But after returning to Los Angeles, I still found myself dreading every audition call. Hearing the same old shit—how much they loved me in High Society and The Carters, but they just couldn’t see me in another role—was getting old.