Chapter 5 - The Back Room

CHAPTER 5: THE BACK ROOM

He should have left. Past nine. Things to do, a life that ran on schedules. He stood. Reached for his jacket.

"Your line is a bit uneven at the back," she said. "Sit. Let me fix it."

He sat. She stood behind him again. Closer this time. Her fingers at the back of his neck, clippers buzzing softly, but her other hand rested on his shoulder and her thumb moved in a slow circle through his shirt. He could feel the heat of her body like standing near a fire — not burning, just present. Unavoidable.

She leaned closer. Her breath on his ear, her chest pressing against his back. The scent of her — shea butter and peri-peri and something warm and sweet underneath — wrapped around him.

She finished. Put the clippers down. Didn't step back. Her hand on his shoulder. In the mirror, their eyes met. Her expression soft. Open. The dimples gone — replaced by something more serious.

His hand came up — before the framework could intervene — and covered hers on his shoulder. Her fingers small under his. Warm. Her breathing changed. He turned his head slowly. She was right there — inches away, lips parted, the scent of her filling his lungs.

He turned in the chair. Stood up. She had to tilt her head back to look at him and the difference in their heights put her mouth level with his collarbone and she didn't step back.

He touched her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone, the dimple that wasn't showing, the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes. Leaned into his palm. He felt her breath against his wrist — warm, quick.