A tall, handsome man stood at the counter, his icy blue eyes framed by thick, black lashes. She lost her ability to speak as she took in all of him. The expensive-looking suit, the salt and pepper hair, the broad shoulders, the serious mouth. He reeked of wealth and privilege.
Her mother's voice played in her head. "Too rich for your blood."
"I ... we're closed. I mean KittKuts will be opening in a little while." She glanced at the clock. "In about forty minutes. I'm sorry. I meant to lock the door when I got here."
His gaze dropped to her hands. A grin curled his full lips. "Nice gloves." His baritone voice flowed like honey.
Kitty held up her hands. "Oh, I was cleaning. I..." Her brain scrambled. She had no idea what she'd planned to say. She pulled off the gloves and laid them on the desk. Why was her heart pounding?
His grin broadened. "Can I get a haircut?" He picked up a business card from the holder on the counter and stared at it. "Are you Kitty?"
A faint woodsy scent filled the air. She took a deep breath, wanting to memorize it. "Yes. It's my salon. Let me look at my book." Turning a few pages, she got to the day's schedule and knit her brow. Her appointments stretched until three-thirty, back-to-back. No way she could squeeze him in. Her heart sank. "I don't have anything. How about tomorrow?"
"Can you do it now?" He raised a hopeful eyebrow. "Or do you have someone coming right away?"
Kitty could tell he didn't like taking no for an answer. "Well, I have some cleaning and..." There was no reason she couldn't do it now. The twins wouldn't be there for more than half an hour yet. If she let this man leave, she might never see him again. And for some reason, she couldn't bear that thought. "Why not? Have a seat over there." She pointed to her station. "I have to wash my hands. I'll be right back."
A minute later, she stood before the bathroom mirror looking at her disheveled red locks. She twisted her hair into a loose bun and fastened it with a coated rubber band. Foraging through the cabinet, she spotted a pot of pink lip-gloss and smoothed some on. Why was she so nervous? What did it matter how she looked? She'd learned long ago not to mix with the upper crust. After all, she was only cutting the man's hair.
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