"Wonderful. Now would you like a magazine? Another chai latte?"
He smiled slightly. "No. Just talking to you is fine."
I could've melted on the spot. Darcy was right. I really had fallen for Stan. Hard. Then again, what choice did Fate leave me when she destined us to be together?
"All right. Then let's begin."
Once my tools were spread out on my mobile workstation cart, I took a step back to view Stan in his entirety. This was an important step in my process. I needed different perspectives to see what I was working with, both up close and distant. Luckily for me, this meant I got to spend a lot of time staring at Stan. Sometimes he would catch my gaze then shyly glance away. Sometimes when I was examining his hair, he would look directly at me, and we would make eye contact as my gaze slipped down. A spark lit up in my chest every single time.
Once my idea had fully manifested, I nodded to myself and grabbed my freshly sharpened scissors. "Here we go."
As I moved behind Stan and picked up a strand of his long, unkempt hair, he said, "Be gentle, all right?"
He was joking, of course, but it didn't stop my stomach from fluttering. First he was getting flustered by my euphemisms, and now the tables had turned. If only he knew how badly I wanted him.
"I'm always gentle," I said. "But if you ever need me to slow down or stop, just let me know."
His cheeks tinged. I wondered if he knew I was only half talking about the haircut. I fantasized about throwing all my tools aside, shoving Stan to the ground, and having my way with him right in the middle of the studio. Then I stopped doing that because I was in real danger of getting an erection and that was far too awkward to fathom.
Stan was a bit tense in the seat, though I could tell he was trying his best to relax. I didn't blame him. I knew he hadn't had a professional haircut in over a decade, and there was clearly some trauma there. After what he admitted to me last night, I understood this was difficult for him so I wanted to make the experience as pleasant and painless as possible.
"Relax," I murmured.
Stan wriggled his shoulders, releasing some of the tension. He sighed and leaned back against the seat deeply.
My hands flew over Stan's hair with experience and precision. Just as I always did while working, I fell into a zen state. Soon wisps of Stan's hair fluttered to the ground, surrounding us like a chestnut-colored halo.
My scissors whizzed, my spray bottle spritzed, and my comb combed. When I needed to be extra particular, I used my fingers instead. I loved being able to touch Stan's hair like this. It felt unusually intimate, unlike with my other clients.
"You know, Stan, your hair has a nice texture," I remarked as I snipped some dead ends off. "And I'm glad to see you keep it as clean as you do."
"Thanks," he mumbled, embarrassed at my praise. "And I'm messy, not dirty. I'm sure I'd get fired if I came into work smelling bad all the time."
"Yes, you smell quite good."
Oh, dammit, did I just say that out loud?
Stan flushed. "Um... Thanks? I guess... I mean, you do, too." His cheeks were getting deeper and deeper. "And I'm not just saying that because you did. Y'know what, nevermind, forget I said anything."
I grinned. "Too late. I already heard you. Tilt your head down, please."
It was hard to tell from Stan's lowered face and long hair in the front, but I think he was smiling, too.
The back was complete. Now to finish the front.
"Now lift your head, dear."
Stan complied, gazing up at me from beneath his dark lashes. My heart thrummed like a hummingbird was trapped between my ribs. How was it possible to bethissmitten with someone only after a single day?
I gently grasped the long front strands in my hand. They were charming, to be honest, so I didn't want to cut them too short. I kept the air of the style while giving it a neat trim and keeping it out of his eyes.
Finally, I stepped back to examine my work.
"There," I said, satisfied. "All done."
Stan raised his eyebrows, which I could see properly now. "You are?"
"Mmhm. Turn around and see for yourself."
