Once she’d stepped in front of me and surveyed my beard, she started on my hair, clipping and shaping and cursing me out for waiting so long. “If you’re gonna let down all your admirers, then you may have a few more stops.”
“What do you mean?” I frowned at her reflection. I hadn’t dated in years.
She laughed. “Um, Emma Polansky?”
Emma? “We went to prom together.”
“Yes, and since her divorce, her parents talk constantly about setting you two up. They own the only grocery store in town. You can’t burn that bridge.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll stop in and mention my affections are spoken for.”
“And Laurie, the bartender at the Ape Hangar.”
Oh. Shit, that would be a weird one.
“And Lacy Miller.”
My face was red and sweat beaded along my hairline as she continued to work. Becca had my number. This was why it was impossible to date in a small town. Every person I’d ever dated, kissed, or even looked at had expectations.
“Lovewell’s most eligible bachelor can’t just declare himself off the market.”
Most eligible bachelor? That was laughable. I was the grump. The guy who worked nonstop and preferred the solitude of the forest to conversation.
“That’s Jude,” I said, itching to move on from talk of my apparently lengthy list of paramours. “He plays the guitar. Automatically top of the bachelor pyramid.”
She laughed. “I heard he fell madly in love with some mystery woman who blew into town last month. Rumor is she’s some kind of disgraced heiress. Or maybe in the witness protection program.”
Poor Jude. The guy meets a cool woman and has some fun, and now it’s officially town lore, an embellished, invented story to be told over and over again for generations to come.
“Lay off Jude,” I grunted. He was even less social than I was, despite the frequent gigs he played with his band. He’d taken the situation with Dad hard, so I was glad he was having a little fun.
When she was finished, my beard felt great. Becca had done some fancy moisturizing treatment and trimmed it short and neat.
“This hair,” she said, running her hands through it. It was medium brown and had a slight wave. I’d always worn it on the longer side, usually tucked behind my ears or under a hat. “People would kill for it.” She’d trimmed it and used product to tame it, making it look sophisticated instead of messy.
She unsnapped the cape, shook it out, and bent down to kiss me on the cheek.
“Makeover is on the house. Now go get your girl.”
I finished up there just in time to make it to my appointment at the clinic, then I had to hit the bookstore, and finally, I needed clothes.
My patience was wearing thin by the time I made it to Wilson’s Outdoor Outfitters. A man could only do so much peopling in one day, and I’d completed at least a month’s worth this morning. I still had several books to read, and I’d promised Clementine a hike to her favorite stream as a thank-you for being so hospitable to our guest.
I hadn’t even fully crossed the threshold of the store when the shouts started.
“Patrick, get in here,” Mrs. Wilson hollered. “Gus Hebert is here.”
Mr. Wilson, a thin man with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, came out of the back room. “Damn, son, it’s been ages since we’ve seen you.”
My face heated. It’d been doing that far too much lately. I’d been busy, and the whole having a criminal as a father thing had kept me away from town in recent months. Some people were downright cruel, and others judged the hell out of the rest of us.
“I need some stuff,” I said gruffly. “Boots, jeans, whatever you’ve got.”
Beaming brightly, Mrs. Wilson clapped. “Wonderful. Because I think we sold you those Levi’s ten years ago.”
Lips pursed, I fought the urge to roll my eyes. So I wasn’t into clothes. Sue me. I had way more important stuff to deal with.
“We recently got some long inseams in,” Mr. Wilson said. “Let me go find the box.”
Mrs. Wilson bustled off, getting back to work organizing racks.
While I waited, I wandered, checking out the carefully organized outdoor gear and clothing. The place had everything. The Wilsons clothed and supplied fishermen, hunters and loggers all over the region, and hopefully, once Finn’s flight tourism business got up and going, more people would be shopping here.
They were the best kind of people. The last few years had been difficult for them, but this place was a Lovewell institution. Where else could you buy a fly-fishing rod, a cashmere sweater, a cast-iron pot, and a diamond ring all in one store?
I grabbed a package of undershirts, new boxer briefs, and a thick brown leather belt. Then I perused the summer weight flannels hanging on one wall. I pulled a few down, including a light blue one I’d normally never wear. I had a distant memory of Chloe saying she liked me in that color, so I might as well give it a try.
Deploying the famous Hebert blue eyes would be required for my mission, and I was ready to take any measure necessary.
Mr. Wilson came back with several pairs of jeans.
He looked down at my scuffed boots and wordlessly went back to the stockroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, he’d added a new pair of work boots to his haul.
“Timberlands, size fourteen? Steel toes for summer?”
I nodded. In my line of work, I went through work boots pretty fast. I could always use a new pair.
“I’ll take ’em. But, uh…” I rubbed at the back of my head, remembering too late that Becca had styled my hair. “Do you have anything dressier?”
