Page 46 of Weatherman

It was true. Pastor Robert was a catch. He ticked all the boxes for being a good man, and a good companion. He treated me well and was good with Pearl. He’d kissed me, and even though there weren’t a lot of sparks, I did like him. Would feelings develop over time? Slow-burn love? Was that enough, and did I want to go there?

Weatherman’s face cropped up in my confused thoughts. We had a rocky start, mostly due to me not wanting to be around a biker club. Over the past few months, I’d learned more about him, how he gave up his career to take care of his mother, how he treated his friends, the support he had for the people in the club.

My biggest bother was that both men had kissed me.

One was sweet and tender.

One was reverent.

One warmed me.

One awakened me.

If both men walked into the salon at the same time and wanted to see me, which one would I choose?

Weatherman’s hazel eyes floated in my mind as I finished Courtney’s hairstyle and rang her out at the register. I had no other appointments for the day and was about to see if there were any walk-ins I could take. Then, as fate would have it, the bell jangled over the door, and the object of my thoughts came in.

“You got time for a trim?” Weatherman growled with a frown.

The salon women tittered, and I could only imagine the wild stories their fertile minds developed.

Not really. “You bet. Just give me a minute.”

I ran to the break room and grabbed a full-sugar soda from the fridge, downing it until my throat burned.

I cut hair. It’s my job. Women, men, and children. Weatherman is no different. Just a client. That’s it, so stop with the weird guilty shit about hanging out with another man for a day.

Why the hell did I need to stop and give myself a scolding pep talk before touching Weatherman’s hair?

I walked back to my station where he stood. His face was stony and his jaw tight. Yeah, he did need a trim, and he came to me to do it.

“You dating Pastor Bobby for real?” he asked as I approached.

I swear there was an audible shift as all the ears in the place pointed in my direction and strained to hear my answer. Why did I suddenly feel like I was treading on thin ice? “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. We hung out, and I visited his church, but that’s it. We’re just friends.”

“Good.” He turned and sat in my chair as I flipped the drape over him. “I want to take you for a ride on the Tail sometime.”

I almost dropped my scissors. A ride on the Tail meant a ride on the back of his bike. A ride on the back of his bike meant….

I sprayed his hair with my mister and picked up my comb and scissors. “Okay.”

Shit! Why did I answer like that?

I dropped the subject, and so did he. His back was straight, and he sat still and silent as I worked. So many little pieces I noticed as I combed and threaded the waves through my fingers. How his hair lay, its texture, the variety of strand colors. The shape of his ears. One had an emerald stud in the lobe. Thick eyelashes. He had a few flaws as well, if you could call them that. A mole just under his hairline at the back of his neck. A small thin scar just under his left eye. He smelled good. Not like the perfume of commercial products but a clean scent. I wondered if he used the soaps that Psalm made.

Pheromones. Hormones. Something was making my head flutter in hyperawareness of the man in my chair. Simple haircuts were not an intimate act, but this one felt like it. I shouldn’t have drunk an entire sugar-filled soda. It was making me sweat.

At the register, he paid me as usual with a generous tip. “When is your next day off?”

“Technically, it’s this Sunday.”

He frowned. “You going to Bobby’s church again?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I’ll have Pearl with me. I can’t ride with a baby.”

“No, but we’ll do something together. Think about it.”

His stare grew intense, and my belly flip-flopped. He stood so close to me that I felt the heat from his body. The world faded a bit until the only person I saw was him.

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