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I work the shampoo into his scalp, creating a rich lather, massaging as I go. "Mmm . . . damn, girl, that feels good. I need this every day after work." He groans, and the sound is so sensual, my knees almost buckle.

Holy hell. Thankfully, his eyes are closed so he can't see my embarrassment. I rinse the suds and grab a towel. "All done," I announce, ignoring his comment. He follows behind me to my chair, where I run some gel through his locks and give his hair a final inspection. "I think you're good to go, Cash. It looks mighty fine."

His eyes hold mine. "Yes, ma'am, mighty fine, indeed. I pay up front?" he inquires with a tilt of his head.

"Mmmhmm," I mumble, no longer sure if we're talking about his hair.

Or if we ever were . . .

CHAPTER 8

MYLA ROSE

I’m still standing here,at my station, staring after Cash as he checks out at the front desk. I’ve never been so . . . affected by anyone. He just,damn. He riles me right up, winking and saying my name with that deep, sexy voice of his.

Good Lord. He’s a deadly combination of big, tall, and charming. Shaking off the fog he left me in, I grab the broom and begin sweeping up his hair. The bell on the door dings, and I hear his deep voice tell Seraphine, “Have a nice day, ma’am,” and I swear she lets out a dreamy sigh. I mean, I can’t fault her. Who wouldn’t? I release a long breath and head to the back to try and get myself together before my next appointment.

AzzyJo corners me in the dispensary. “Myla Rose! Who on God’s green earth was that?”

“No one. I mean, a new customer. That’s all.” I refuse to meet her eyes. She’ll see right through me. “Nothin’ special.”

“Then why are you acting so strange?” She eyes me, keeping her distance but never taking her gaze off me. She’s appraising me, like I’m a feral cat and she is waiting for my claws to come out.

“I’m not. You’re imagining things.”

“MYLA ROSE!” Seraphine barges through the door, panting like she’s just run a damn marathon.

“Good Lord, Seraphine. Everything okay?” AzzyJo asks, startled. Seraphine is young and fit as a fiddle. If she's winded . . .

“Yes, yes. Sorry. I just, um . . .” She’s fidgeting, which isn’t like her. Seraphine's usually cool as a cucumber.

“Come on, Ser, what’s up?” I search her deep brown eyes why she’s acting crazier than a loon.

“I just wanted to give you your tip from your last client.” Seraphine holds out her hand, and a fifty-dollar bill is sitting pretty in her palm.

“No. I think you’re confused. All I did was a cut.” My eyes are so wide with surprise they feel like they’re going to bug out of my head.

“Nope. Not confused. This is your tip.” She thrusts the money toward me. “Take it.” I tentatively reach out and grab the money, slipping it into the pocket of my apron. “See, wasn’t so hard.” She smiles triumphantly and heads back to the front desk.

“Just a new customer, huh?” AzzyJo taunts, taking measure of my response. “Must have made quite the impression, Myla Rose.” I shrug my shoulders, ignoring her. The more I say, the more Azalea will pester me. Like a dog with a bone, she won’t give up.

“I’m sure he was just being overly nice since he got in last-minute and all.”

“I don’t care what it was. He's a gorgeous,gorgeousman. Next time he comes in, you should get his number.” Her eyes are shining, like this is the best idea she’s ever had. Hate to burst her bubble, but . . .

“Get real. That man doesn’t wanna play house with me. He could have his pick of the ladies here, and I’m just . . . well, there’s more than just me.” She looks at me like I have lost my damn mind.

Obviously, though, I’m the only one of us with any sense.

“You know, some men don’t mind. My Pops loved me like I was his. Didn’t care one bit that my mother had me—took us as a package deal.”

“I get that, I do. Your Pops is a good man, and there are a lot of good men out there, I’m sure. I’m just not interested, okay? Right now, I just need to focus on me and my little bean.”

She rolls her eyes, her disbelief evident. She opens her mouth to go on some more. “Listen, Myla?—”

I hold up a hand to silence her. I know just how to end this conversation. “Did I tell you that I might be able to find out the gender at my appointment next week?”

“NO! You did not tell me!” She throws her arms around me and squeezes. “I am so . . . AHH! This is amazing! Icannotwait to find out. Then I can start planning your shower, and buying things, and we can go look at paint for the nursery, and?—”