“She surprised me,” he explained. “I thought it was Chris. I never expected to see her. She was looking for some leaves or something. I may have startled her with my…brusqueness.” He had the grace to look abashed while acknowledging he’d been aloof and stayed in the shadows. “The second time we met wasn’t much better,” he continued sheepishly. “I think we’ve avoided each other since. I don’t think we’ll ever be, ah, friends.”
“You don’t like surprises.”
“Not like that.”
“You’re deliberately rude at times,” I observed, trying to get him to open up.
“I’m aware.” His tone told me that was all he had to say on the matter.
“Not everyone will reject you because of your scars, Zachary. Some people look beyond the surface of a person to what’s inside.”
The disbelieving look and dismissive shrug of his shoulders let me know the subject was closed.
I didn’t push.
The way he was looking at me now, though, with a relaxed smile on his face, I hoped one day he would talk more freely and tell me so I wouldn’t have to push.
The wind picked up, his dark hair falling over his brow and into his eyes. Impatiently, he pushed his hand through it only to have it immediately fall back down. I laughed at his irritated expression.
“You need a haircut.”
“I know. Mr. Olson is still away. It always gets too long this time of year.”
“Mr. Olson?”
“He owns the barber shop in town. I, ah, always go to him. He…he knows me.”
“I could do it.”
“I don’t have any scissors that would work for cutting hair.”
“Karen does.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “She owns a salon. She has all the girly stuff here, including scissors.” I wiggled my bright toes in my flip flops—no bare feet today. “That’s where I got the polish.”
“Nice.”
“I’ll grab a pair and get some more food for Dixie, then I can trim it for you, if you like?”
He hesitated, frowning. Slowly, he lifted his hand to the right side of his head, his fingers trembling as he touched the scars. I stepped closer, wanting to reassure him. “You can show me where not to touch, Zachary. I won’t hurt you.”
His eyes searched mine, and I waited patiently. His scars were his biggest weakness and I still didn’t understand all the minefields that surrounded them. I had to let him lead me.
Finally he nodded. Pulling his hand down, I kissed his knuckles and smiled at him, almost euphoric at his trust.
“I’ll go get the scissors. You wash your hair—it’s easier to cut when it’s wet.”
His arms shot out, dragging me to him, his mouth crashing on mine. His kiss was deep and hard.
“I’ll be waiting.”
I felt the heat of his mouth on mine the entire time I was gone.* * *Zachary’s damp head gleamed in the light. I stood between his legs, hesitating. “Off the top and sides?”
“Mostly the top. I, um, like it longer on the side. You can trim the back a little.”
His request made sense, of course, because keeping the sides longer helped to cover the scars.
Taking a deep breath, I picked up the comb. “Does this hurt?” I wondered. “Combing your hair, I mean?”
His eyes were nervous as he looked at me. “It’s sensitive in places.”
“Show me.”
He raised a shaky hand, clasping mine with it, and running my fingers over the uneven patches of skin. “There,” he whispered.
Softly, I kissed the marred skin. “Okay,” I whispered into his ear. “Hold on to me.”
I ran my fingers over his scalp, letting him get used to my touch, ignoring his intake of air. His hands settled on my hips, their grasp tight. Carefully, I combed his hair through and started cutting. For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the snipping of scissors and Zachary’s uneven breaths. As I worked away, I hummed, hoping it might soothe him. Gradually, his breathing calmed and he relaxed, his hold on my hips loosening.
“Have you done this before?”
I smirked a little. “Maybe you should have asked that earlier.”
“Maybe.”
“My friends and I cut each other’s hair when we were in college,” I chuckled. “It saved money and they never complained.” I paused to look and make sure both sides were even. “Of course, they had way more hair than you so let’s hope I get it right. Otherwise, you may not need another visit to Mr. Olsen until next year.” I winked at him. “Karen cuts mine, and she showed me the basics. I think we’ll be okay.”
He buried his hand in my hair, tugging on the strands. “You have beautiful hair, Megan. I love how it feels in my hands.”
My cheeks warmed at his sweet words.
He tugged again, bringing my face close to his, kissing me warmly. “I like doing that,” he murmured, releasing my hair.
“Making me blush?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I asked, continuing to cut away, ignoring the increasing tempo of my heart.