Josh frowned and ran his hand over his head. “Not yet I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. It’s already starting to grow out and once the lodge is officially open, you’ll never get around to it, so you’ll look like a shaggy mutt in the Christmas pictures.”
Shaggy mutt was a little harsh. “There’s plenty of time to get a trim before Christmas, Rosie. I’m not leaving you alone in the house.”
“Andy’s coming over in an hour or so. I’ll be fine for that long, since I’m still in bed.”
She was up to something, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of what it was.
“You needed to go to the hardware store, anyway,” she said. “I saw your list on the fridge. And, with everything you have to do, I just know you’re going to end up looking mangy for the holiday.”
“Shaggy. Mangy. Mutt. Maybe I should skip the hardware store and make myself a vet appointment.” She didn’t crack a smile. “Fine. If it makes you happy, I’ll go get my hair cut so I won’t look like a stray dog in your precious pictures.”
“Can you stop at the library for me, too? And I need a few things from the market.”
It was another twenty minutes before he was on the road, with the music cranked in an effort to drown out the chaos in his head. He had a million things to do, the woman who’d always helped him was lying in bed worrying about his freaking hair of all things, and in a few minutes Katie would be running her fingers through that hair.
There wasn’t a sound system ever put in a vehicle capable of drowning out that thought. He couldn’t even begin to count how many times she’d done it before, but it must have been at least a half-dozen times a year since she’d taken over the barbershop. This, however, was the first time he’d ever had to pause outside the door and take a few seconds to check his nerves.
There was a guy ahead of him, so Josh grabbed a magazine out of the rack and settled in a chair to wait his turn. It wasn’t as if he could take a rain check, since Rosie would just be up his ass again about looking like a shaggy dog.
He didn’t fish, though, so neither field nor stream was interesting enough to distract him from watching Katie work. She was a natural, chatting Mr. Harwin up about his model airplanes while making quick work of trimming his hair. Thankfully, she was wearing a traditional white coat over her clothes today, so he was spared a good view of her body. It was a welcome reprieve after last night, but he still closed his eyes so he couldn’t see her at all.
Now that he’d become aware of the breasts and legs and really great ass, he was noticing other things. How expressive her eyes were. How often her hair was in a ponytail and how very much he’d like to see it down more often, as it was last night. It looked soft and he’d bet it would tickle sliding across his bare chest.
“Hey, Kowalski, you fall asleep?”
Oh, shit. He’d lost track of time and gotten lost in a hot little daydream about what came after her hair tickling his chest. Pushing himself out of the scooped plastic chair was no treat, and he took advantage of Katie turning her back to adjust the crotch of his jeans.
When she turned on the water in the sink, he shook his head. “Just a quick trim’s fine.”
“Shut up. You’ve always gotten the full treatment.”
That was before, but it wasn’t as if he could explain that to her without feeling even more awkward than he already did. Taking the magazine with him, he walked over and made himself as comfortable as he could in the wash chair.
“You want me to toss that magazine on the table?”
“No, I, uh…” It was staying right where it was—hiding his crotch like an eighth-grade math book. “I’ve got my thumb holding my place. I was reading an article.”
“You being such an avid fisherman and all.” He jumped a little when the spray of water hit his head and she jerked it away. “What? Too hot?”
“No, it’s fine,” he muttered.
It was less fine when her fingers plunged into his hair and it took everything he had not to moan. Then came the shampoo. Her fingers massaged his scalp, working the lather into his hair, and he shifted the magazine on his lap, making sure it was centered over the evidence of how very good it felt. It always had before, but this time was…different.
Everything was different now. Somehow, wanting to have sex with somebody you’d considered a friend your whole life shook things up. How was he supposed to enjoy football with her now? Hard to focus on third-down conversions when you were thinking about the breasts of the person sitting next to you. Maybe he could show up early and beat Butch to the recliner without anybody noticing.