Page 8 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

I desperately try to not start hyperventilating.

The mystery man frowns. “You all right, pal?”

He’s devastatingly handsome, but it’s those sad eyes of his that draw me in. The pain I see reflected in them and the guarded, tense way he holds himself speak volumes. I don’t know who hurt him, but the very thought distresses me.

He gestures to the bottle in my hand. “That stuff’s total shit, man. Trust me, you don’t wanna use it.”

I stare at him unblinking, and my mouth won’t move.

Work, damn you! My brain screams at my tongue.

Still frowning, the man reaches out and yanks the bottle from my hand, pointing a finger at the label. “See? It’s full of parabens and sulfates and fuck knows what else. It’s murder on your hair.” He eyes me up and down, assessing. “And you have amazing hair, I gotta tell you. Don’t ruin it with this garbage.”

He’s wearing black nail polish. I never knew I’d find that so cute.

“You still with me, man?”

I shake off my daze and swallow hard as I finally register his compliment. “Uh… you know a lot… about shampoo.”

Smooth, Hal. Real smooth.

He laughs softly and points to his own spiky hair. “Well, yeah. Kind of goes with the territory.”

I tilt my head in question.

“I’m a hairdresser. It’s kinda my thing.” He shrugs.

My eyes widen. “Really? Do you happen to cut Otherkind hair?” I blurt out that last bit and immediately feel like a fool.

Ever since I moved to Mystic Hollow, I’ve found it difficult to locate a hairstylist in this area who’s familiar with sasquatch hair—and we have quite a lot of it. All over. Getting a haircut is a more involved process for us. These last few years, I’ve been forced to cut my own, but I’m not very skilled and some places on my body are hard to reach.

“I’ve cut hair for a couple of Otherkind before, but never a sasquatch.” He looks me up and down thoughtfully. “I’m game to try though. Those gorgeous locks of yours definitely deserve some tender loving care.”

My heart does a little somersault in my chest at his words, and I’m strangely weak in the knees all of a sudden.

Get a grip, Hal. He’s not flirting with you.

Sigh. Wishful thinking.

My would-be hair savior returns the bottle to the shelf with a shudder of distaste. In exchange, he picks up a fancy and far more expensive one that’s half the size.

“This should be safe for you to use, but with all that hair, you might wanna look into ordering online for bulk options. It’s more expensive but worth it.”

I reach out a trembling hand and take the bottle with as much reverence as if it were a red rose.

“Th-th-thank you,” I stutter awkwardly. “No one’s ever cared so much about my hair before.”

I never knew that sentiment would fill me with butterflies.

The man puts his hands in his back pockets and shrugs uncomfortably. “No problem. I’m not good at much, but hair I know like the back of my hand.”

I just met him, but it hurts to hear him talking down about himself. I fight back the urge to tell him he’s amazing and beautiful. Way to creep a poor guy out, Hal. Instead, I offer him my friendliest smile and ask, “Are you new in town?”

“You could say that. I came here looking for answers, I guess.” The haunted look in his eyes intensifies. “Gotta start fresh now that I’ve put out the dumpster fire that was my life not too long ago.”

Right now, I want very badly to hold this man in my arms and let him know he’s safe here. He looks like he needs a warm hug more than anyone I’ve met in a long time.

But I restrain myself and swallow hard once more. “If you need somewhere to stay while you’re in town, I run the B&B just off Main Street.” My cheeks warm and I reach out my hand. “I’m Hal Atwood, by the way.”