A smirk touches his lips. “Well, I talk to a lot of people, too, and I guarantee you I know how it works. It works great.”
That does it. The apples of my cheeks heat. I can’t take it. I have to move. The energy coursing through my veins has to go somewhere.
“Sit still. This won’t take long,” I say, turning on the device in my hand.
“That’s nothing a guy ever wants to hear.”
I roll my eyes and get to work on his dark, silky locks. Whiffs of his cologne filter through the air like a genie in a bottle, luring me into his world. I fight the urge to touch his neck and the side of his face, which is peppered with last night’s stubble.
It crosses my mind what his reaction might be if I tell him who I am. Would he even remember what I was talking about? In his defense, I look different now. Dark-brown hair and fairer skin, thanks to a fear about tanning that a magazine article drove home in my early twenties. I also am in better shape, and the acne that plagued me after high school is long gone.
I can’t blame him for not realizing I’m the girl named Abby. But that doesn’t mean my pride isn’t a bit injured.
He moves in the seat, making it hard to cut his hair.
“Stop moving.” I take a step back and try to get a good look at my work. “You’re so fidgety.”
“Sorry. I had a lot of coffee this morning.”
“Well . . . have less before you get a haircut,” I offer.
“Harper never minds.”
“I’d smack you,” she says, shaking her scissors Penn’s direction.
“You’re not in this conversation,” he tells her.
She laughs before going back to Lorene.
I move him around so he’s facing the mirror. His gaze is heavy on me through the reflection, and I ignore it the best I can.
“So, you’re a carpenter. Do you work for someone or for yourself?” I ask, trying to take up the weird stillness between us.
“I work for a guy named Dane and his brother, Matt. Good guys, both of them.” He looks up at me. “But they’re kind of dickheads, so stay away from them.”
I can tell he’s kidding, so I bump his shoulder with my hip. “I’m going to hunt them down now, just to say hi.”
“Dane’s getting married, and Matt is a pussy. Just warning you.”
I trade the clippers for a pair of scissors. “I like a good man who’s in touch with his feelings.”
“You’d like me, then,” Penn says. “I know all of my feelings. Want me to tell you what I’m feeling now?”
A laugh comes out before I can stop it. “No. Thanks. You can keep your feelings to yourself.”
“Look—if you’re gonna tell me you’re a woman who likes to skip feelings and get right to the good stuff, I might marry you right fucking now.”
I narrow my eyes as I measure his hair in between two fingers and snip off the ends. “There’s no need to run off to the jeweler, my friend, because I’m all about the feelings.”
“Damn it.”
I laugh again. “I didn’t figure you’d go for that.”
“I think you figure a lot of things about me.”
“Do you figure I’m right?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think the only way for us to see if you’re right is to have dinner. Which would be a real date because it’s doing something with you in public.”
“Gee, thanks, but no.” I move to the other side, making a concerted effort not to touch him anywhere but his hair. “Nice offer, though.”
“Claire over at the café explained to me this morning that a real date is dinner or a movie or a picnic or something. I didn’t know that.” He pauses. “Did you?”
“Well, I’m not a child, so, yeah, I knew that.”
He doesn’t seem fazed. He just watches me in the mirror as I work on his hair.
The feeling of having his attention so concentrated is heady. Almost intoxicating. I’d forgotten what it was like to be desired just the way I am.
I’m not sure Penn minds the curve of my hip. And if he’s noticed the slight bunch at my waistline, he hasn’t shown it.
I move so I’m in front of him. My breath catches in my throat as our bodies border on contact. His leg next to mine. His hand near my waist. My chest this close to his face. Sure, it was a hell of a lot closer than that ten years ago, but I can’t think about that now.
How is it fair that he’s more handsome now than he was then?
“Crazy question,” he says, his tone huskier than before. “Do I know you?”
My hand stills. “Do you think you know me?”
I glance down at him. His thick, dark lashes frame the blues of his eyes, which are so light that they’re almost clear.