Page 15 of Starlight Salon

Unless he calls all women ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart,’ but I haven’t noticed him using endearments for women at the bar. Then again, I was too busy dreaming about him to notice what he calls women.

“Chlo, what are you doing to me?” He reaches under the cape and adjusts himself.

A smile spreads across my face. He wants me. I’m not imagining things. I bend and whisper in his ear, “Making you feel good.”

He opens his eyes and turns his head slightly. Brown eyes flick to my lips. “You are.”

My heart pounds as I kiss his cheek, stand upright, and switch the tap on to wash the shampoo out of his hair, following with a quick condition. His eyes stay open and focus on the plants opposite the line of basins.

I towel his hair dry after I remove the conditioner and nudge him upright, clasping his hand to guide him around the basin to my station. Once again, I’m glad I decided on a skirt and not jeans—they would have been torture rubbing against me.

Need to get through the cut before I do anything…fun.

He sits in the chair, and I comb through his hair. It’s soft and silky with a tiny curl pattern I want to thrust my hands in.

To grip.

I’m standing behind him instead of using my wheelie stool. He’s too tall for me to reach the top of his head when I’m sitting, but it means I can see him in the mirror, so I’m happy. His eyes follow me when I reach for the clippers and my pink alligator clips to part his hair—if he has protests about the colour, he keeps it quiet. Brown eyes soften every time I card my fingers through his curls.

I section away the top half of his hair and begin to clip the back, fading it together, nudging his head forward to get the right angle and running my fingers through the newly clipped hair. Having permission to finally touch him—even from a professional standpoint—soothes me.

Instead of chatting like I normally would, I keep quiet, too busy savouring the freedom to touch him. Lachlan watches me work instead of talking, and I’m all for it. It means I can gather my thoughts, scattered from the high of being here with him.

I switch from clippers to scissors and trim the front pieces, adding in layers so his hair will fall nicely with minimal styling.

Drying his hair is quick, and when I turn the noise off, he takes the opportunity to talk. “Who recommended the original plumber to you?” His voice is growly, as if the idea of someone ruining my plumbing angers him.

“The internet.”

He narrows his eyes at me while I decide what product to use. This time he doesn’t relax at my touch. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t know you were a plumber.” I melt styling wax between my fingers and run it through his hair to emphasise the wave.

Seconds pass before I realise he’s gone rigid. He clears his throat. “You didn’t know?”

His eyes stay on me while I figure out how to respond. It’s clear he’s unhappy, but I don’t understand why. “No, otherwise I would have called you first.”

Lachlan shifts in the chair and rubs a hand over his mouth roughly. “It’s common knowledge I’m a plumber.”

I finish styling his hair, wipe my hands on a towel, and trace my hands down his neck until I can squeeze his shoulders. He’s stopped looking at me and glances at the exit where pedestrians walk past the store in the burning sun. Is he upset because I wasn’t asking people about him?

I step away from him. “I never asked anyone about you except to get your name. I don’t like asking questions.”

“About me?” Lachlan spins the chair around to face me.

Facing me straight on, his gaze is piercing, and I cross my arms. At least there was a level of separation when looking through the mirror. Now there’s no barrier. “I didn’t want anyone to put it together.”

“Put what together?”

I tuck hair behind my ears a few times, the wax tugs at my strands and I bump the hair tie. Chewing my lip, I decide to take a chance. I can’t take his drawn face, the frown and devastated eyes. “That I…like you.” I yank the cape off him and avoid his gaze as I remove my hairdressing belt. Anything to focus on while I bare my heart. “I only go to the bar on Saturdays because you’re there.”

Hands clenched in fists to stop the shaking, I cautiously glance up to see his reaction and inhale sharply when I see his burning eyes staring at me. His hands wrap around my hips and squeeze gently, pulling me between his spread legs. My trembling hands reach tentatively for his shoulders.

“You do?”

My head dips. Why isn’t he saying anything?

A smile spreads across his face, brown eyes crinkle and his drawn expression disappears.