The doorbell jingled and Noah bounced in again as Stacy said, “It’s true. But also, you really do look great. Doesn’t she, Noah?”
Noah, jittering as he waited for Mr. Million Miles Of Hair Man, said, “Uh-huh,” absently, then paused, gathered himself, and turned to examine Molly’s hair with a childishly critical eye. “It looksreallynice,” he concluded after a moment. “It makes your eyes and smile look bigger. Everybody’s gonna love it.”
Molly mumbled, “Oh my gawd,” under her breath, and smiled widely at the little boy. “Well, thank you, Noah. I think I feel less nervous now.”
“And,” Noah added, taking a notepad—an actual physical paper one, and a pencil—out from his backpack, “andyou gotseventeeninches of hair cut, and I havefifty-eightpeople who pledged one dollar for every inch of hair you got cut so that’snine hundredandeighty six dollarsall by yourself!”
“Wow.” Stacy and Molly blinked at one another before Stacy said, “Wow, if you’re making a thousand dollars off everybody’s head, Noah, you’re going to have the playground funded in no time!”
Noah glowed with triumph. “It’s gonna be great! Come on, Ms. Jones, let’s go show everybody your new hair!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her, laughing, out of the shop.
For a few seconds it was blissfully silent. Stacy exhaled loudly into the quiet, glad for a moment by herself. She loved her salon, with its checked black and white floor and three of everything: salon chairs, sinks, hairdryers, and a surprising amount of seating for families waiting around. Some days she filled all the chairs herself, working on color for one person and permanent waves for another while cutting a third, but two days a week, other hairdressers rented out her extra chairs. It was a system that had been working pretty well for almost four years now, ever since she moved to Virtue, but once in a while she thought about expanding the business.
Then she remembered how many more people that would mean at Christmas, and decided against it, as she always did. She got the broom, sweeping up the last bits of Molly’s hair and thinking about the day’s haircuts. The girl who’d gotten the pixie cut had been the most fun, but there was always a certain amount of fun in giving someone a really different look. At least, as long as they didn’t cry. Stacy, again, wasn’tthatmuch of a grinch.
The door chimed as someone opened it, and she called, “Come on in, I’ll be with you in a second!” as she shook the dustpan into a garbage can. Putting the broom aside, she turned to see Mr. Million Miles Of Hair Man in the door.
It had to be him. He had thick, wavy,auburnhair that fell loosely past his shoulders to somewhere around what would be the bra line on a woman. Stacy’s hands suddenly itched to sink into that incredible heavy hair, and her heart gave an actual pang at the idea of cutting it. He had a slight reddish scruff along his jaw, and huge dark brown eyes that women the world over would kill for.
She swore he actually struck a pose, framed in the doorway like that. Lots of people paused just inside the door, getting their bearings, but Mr. Million Miles Of Hair pauseddramatically, somehow. He lifted his square-cut jaw just a little, showing it off to his best advantage. His wide shoulders were held just a little farther back than people usually stood, like a superhero, and he seemed to inhale deeply, filling the door with his broad-chested presence.
He was tall, his long, long legs clad in jeans and his weight slightly off center, like he’d paused mid-step just to be admired. It was so blatant Stacy felt she probably shouldn’t admire him, but since she wasn’t dead, admiration was her only option. He had big chunky brown leather work boots and an equally big chunky brown leather jacket, suitable for the winter weather, over a flannel shirt he wore open above a white t-shirt.
Stacy hoped with every fiber of her soul that he would take the flannel off as well as the coat, when he came to sit down for the haircut. She had a deep, fundamental need to see that t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, and a sudden urge to turn the air conditioning on. She just wasn’t sure if it was to cool herself down, or so she could watch his nipples poke against his t-shirt.
She had never had a thought like that before in her entire life.
It was entirely his fault. Standing around posing like that. What did he expect of a red-blooded woman, if he was going to be so blatantly gorgeous? He would just have to live with the consequences.
Noah, whom she had entirely forgotten about, yelled, “Ta-daaaaaaaah!” and splayed his arms to display Mr. Million Miles Of Hair Man. “Itoldyou he had a million miles of hair!”
Mr. Million Miles broke his pose and laughed as he stepped all the way into the shop. His laugh was rich and deep and toe-curling. Stacy had ideas about what to do with him in the hairdresser’s chair that she hadalsonever had thoughts about in her whole entire life. They involved crawling into his lap and being entirely inappropriate.
His voice was as deep as his laugh, all warm and comforting. “Did you? I’m afraid I’ll be a disappointment, then. I’m fairly certain I don’t have more than a couple of feet of hair at most. Hi.” He crossed the salon in a few long strides and offered Stacy his hand. “I’m Keith, and you’re…”
CHAPTER2
Gorgeous.That was how Keith wanted to end that sentence. The hairdresser was gorgeous. She—Stacy, he knew her name because the salon saidStacy’s Salonon the window—was short and curvy, with a big handful of jet black hair tied up in a loose knot at the top of her head. Strands fell around her neck and cheeks, framing the most incredible dark brown eyes he’d ever looked into: large, thoughtful, framed with long dark lashes and the slightest smudge of eyeliner that did something to make them even larger and more doe-like.
Doe-like,his stag said in smug delight.Ourdoe. Our fated mate.
The stag was smug, or at least, overly confident, about almost everything. In this particular case, though, Keith knew in his soul that it was right. Stacy of the salon was his fated mate, a dream come true when he hadn’t even known he was dreaming.
Although he couldn’t help saying,Female red deer are called hinds, not does, to his stag.
The stag bristled.Then why didn’t you say her eyes were hind-like?
Keith, trying not to grin, said,Because that’s not what people say,and received a glare of confusion mixed with disdain from his stag. Humans were obviously too confusing for the big beast.
That was all right. Maybe it would keep the stag quiet for a while, so he could admire and maybe flirt with Stacy without being interrupted.
Because he thought he could admire her forever. She wore just a touch of makeup besides the eyeliner: rough warm red on kissable lips, and a glow of something golden-pink on her cheeks. Or maybe that was just her natural skin tone, as her arms, bared by her t-shirt, were that same sort of warm gold with pink undertones. Her biceps were amazing, and she wore one of those slightly glossy aprons that kept hair and wet off hairdressers over her jeans and t-shirt. She was absolutely perfect, and he couldn’t wait to know her well enough to tell her that.
He became concerned that he’d been shaking her hand for too long, but he couldn’t remember what he’d been saying, so he wasn’t sure how to stop.
She rescued him by saying, “Stacy,” which reminded him that he’d introduced himself. “And you’re Mr. Million Miles Of Hair Man. Noah wasn’t wrong. I know this is for charity, but are yousureyou want to cut that?”
Keith wrinkled his face around a grin. “I’m sure that when I was growing up, I was desperate for a giant playground, and my insane family have all promised five bucks an inch. There are thirty-six of them.”
