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He blinked at the amount she told him. Did people really pay this much on a regular basis?
“That includes the salve. Do you want more product?”
“Product? What product?”
She plucked a fancy-looking jar from the shelf next to the barber’s chair. “Stuff for your hair, to keep it looking like this.”
He peered at the thick dark waves and noted the nice shape. He’d like to keep it looking like this at least until tomorrow night. “What’s in it?”
“Chemicals.” She shrugged and gave it to him to examine. He handed it back after a second.
“Pass. I can get some bear fat pretty easily.” Redbull’s family kept a store of the stuff.
“No, you cannot use bear fat.” She waggled a finger at him, then shoved the container back at him. “Take it. I insist.”
He paid her, adding a big tip, then faced the outside air for the first time as he strode to his truck. So. Strange. He kept thinking that someone was breathing down his neck. He even whirled around halfway to his truck. A pretty woman in her twenties was walking her dog down the sidewalk. Her head was bobbing to whatever was playing in her earbuds, and clearly she hadn’t been breathing on his neck. He felt like an idiot and smiled sheepishly.
And the most amazing thing happened. She smiled back, almost flirtatiously. Definitely flirtatiously.
“Everything okay, handsome?” she asked.
“Uh huh.”
Brilliant, Galen. Brilliant.
He gave her a nod and walked the rest of the way to his truck. Shit. He hadn’t been expecting that. Attracting the attention of women was Jason’s domain. Or his brothers’. It usually took more time for women to appreciate him.
Inside his truck, he rubbed his jaw, wondering if that redness would go away before dinner at Brenda’s tomorrow.
Shit. What was he going to wear? He couldn’t go in his usual work pants and flannel. Getting out of his truck again, he called to the girl, whose dog was now pissing on someone’s lawn. “Do you know of a good clothing store around here?”
sixteen
Since there was no talking her granny out of inviting Galen to dinner, Brenda sent him a flurry of texts to prepare him.
My mother likes people to call her Mrs. Abercrombie until she says otherwise.
Bring flowers. But not tiger lilies, they make my mom itchy.
Oh, and no carnations. Especially dyed carnations. You don’t want to see her reaction to those.
She’s picky about alcohol. Prosecco is ok, but no red wine.
How’s beer? He finally asked after she’d sent about twenty such texts.
What kind?
Local craft brew type. Small batch.
Okay.
After fretting a while over that, she changed her mind. Maybe no alcohol. Her standards are impossible and she brings her own anyway.
What do you want me to wear? he asked her.
She wondered if it would be rude to go through his closet. Did he even have a closet, or just a pile of clothes on the floor? She’d never seen his place, although Kendra had pointed out where he lived.
Just be yourself, she told him.
