Seeking the Star by Traci Borum

Author:Traci Borum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing
Published: 2015-07-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“I wish,” Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: “but it’s too late now.”

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“Nothing,” said Scrooge. “Nothing.”

~Charles Dickens

“Maybe three inches,” Ben instructed, tilting his head. “Or whatever you think. You’re the expert.”

Not that he cared whether his head was completely shaved. But he’d gotten tired lately of always tucking hair behind his ears, especially as he worked with Mac. So, when he’d paused at the window of Snippity-Do-Dah a half hour ago and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass, Ben decided it was time for a significant trim.

“Here?” the girl asked, taking a lock of hair between two fingers.

“Sure.”

She seemed to be a rare hairdresser who preferred the quiet and didn’t talk her customers’ ears off just because she thought that was part of her job. Or maybe she, like Ben, was not a morning person. Either way, he was grateful for the silence.

Closing his eyes as she worked, he thought about yesterday—a bad day. His body was still being punished by hard labor that he wasn’t used to, but the pain was more than that. It went deeper than muscular pain. He couldn’t think of a single reason to get up and face the day. That familiar, suffocating cloud was back, and it hung over him, taunting him. He couldn’t conjure up the strength to blow it away. So, he’d rolled over, shut his eyes, and begged his mind to fall asleep again. Easy way out—oblivion.

He recalled Mary’s quiche and her concerned expression as she’d served it, probably wondering where the congenial Ben had gone. But he hadn’t been able to summon the casual conversation it would have taken to reassure her he was fine. He wasn’t fine. Why pretend?

The sudden, brassy hum of the blow dryer startled him, but the rush of warm air on his neck and his scalp made him close his eyes again. He wished he could return to this place in time, this peaceful warmth, whenever he sensed the darkness creeping in.

After clicking off the dryer, the young woman squeezed a circle of clear gel into her palm, rubbed her hands together, then massaged it into his scalp, sculpting and maneuvering the newly clipped hair the way she wanted it.

“All finished, sweetie.” She unclasped the smock then removed it dramatically, like a magician’s assistant waving her cape to reveal a rabbit’s sudden disappearance. She popped her gum and admired her handiwork.

Ben glanced at the mirror and saw the old him reflected back—the clean-shaven, well-groomed man he used to be. Professional. Capable. Confident. Why wasn’t transforming the inside as easily as transforming the outside? A few snips, a little gel, and voila!

“Thanks,” he told her, counting out the pounds.

“Thank you.” Her mouth widened into a generous smile.

For a second, he thought the smile might indicate more than gratitude—he sensed a bit of cheeky flirtation behind it. He didn’t know what to do with that, so he dipped his head and walked toward the door with a quiet, “Bye.

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