Page 6 of Weatherman

“I’m the evening meteorologist for the WXVI news station in Knoxville. Well, for the next four weeks, at least.”

So hewasa sort of local celebrity. “Oh,” I replied. Kinda lame, but popular or not, he was still a stranger to me. That laser smile of his pierced me, and not in a good way. “You sure you trust me? We just met.”

“I trust Tambre. She wouldn’t hire someone she didn’t believe could do the job.”

He was sitting in my chair already, the cape in my hands.

Just cut his hair,I repeated to myself.Simple sweep and taper. Easy peasy.

I sprayed him down and combed through his locks. Most of the time, I tried to chat with my clients, but I just wanted to get him done and out of my life. The sandy-colored strands threaded through my fingers as I point-snipped away, lifting the layers and checking the fall. The other man I’d trimmed liked his hair military short.

“Can’t take the Army out of me, baby.”

I still heard his voice from time to time. Still pictured his smile with that overlapping front tooth. Still remembered when he took me in his arms the first time. Grief hit me out of nowhere, and my scissors dropped to the floor.

Tambre called out, “Opal, are you okay?”

I shook myself off and fought back the wave of tears that threatened to flow. “Yeah, you bet.”

I picked up the shears and cleaned them before resuming my work. Thankfully, Weatherman stayed silent. If he talked to me or asked me questions, there was no way I could get through this job or even answer him.

A few minutes later, I was done. I’d made it through without losing control completely, although I would probably shed some tears later.

I brushed off the cape and took it from around his neck. He stood up and straightened his clothes, and I finally noticed the cut on his back. A biker. Another member of the Dragon Runners MC.

Uff-da, will I ever get away from motorcycle men?

He followed me to the register.

“That will be twenty-five dollars.” I recognized that my tone was much sharper than it needed to be, but at the moment, I couldn’t help it.

He handed me two twenties. “Keep the change. I apologize if I made you nervous.”

“You don’t make me anything,” I said rather acidly. The generous tip threw me off. Experience had taught me that men who were generous usually had expectations.

His chuckle had the sound of irritation rather than mirth. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t like doing men’s hair.”

“So, it’s not me.”

His statement brought me up short, and I didn’t know what to say. My actions were already rude, and anything else I had to say would make me the bitch of the year. He hadn’t done or said anything bad, so technically I had no reason to be this angry with him. The behavior of the salon patrons wasn’t really his fault, yet I wanted to hate this man. Hate him with a passion because he reminded me of someone else.

Before I could come up with a reasonable response, the timer on Courtney’s hair dinged. “Thank you for the tip. I gotta get back to work. Have a nice day.”

I turned and left him at the counter. A few seconds later, the bell sounded over the door, and I assumed he was gone.

Kimmie hissed at me from her station. “What the fuck is wrong with you? He was hot as hell!”

Yes, he was hot. My hormones agreed, but that attraction made me hate him more. It didn’t make sense, but that’s where I was. The snake in my belly coiled up, and I had to keep moving before it talked to me.

“Whatever,” I flipped back. I had a client in my chair who was paying me a lot of money for her hair, and that’s where I focused my attention. Courtney had resumed her spot, and I reached for the foils, ignoring everyone else.

New town, new people, new life.

I repeated the words over and over again.

New town, new people, new life.

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