by Cindy Kirk
Wrapping the silk robe around herself, she cinched it tight, then ambled into the kitchen to start the coffee. Once that was going, she moved to the window to look out on Main Street.
Not a lot of activity, but more than she’d expected for a Sunday morning. She breathed deep, loving the scent of yeast and sugar in the air. Having your apartment sit directly above a bakery was a nice perk.
Charlotte had to smile, remembering how various friends would lament how they could gain five pounds by simply inhaling the sweet scent of rolls and pastries. Charlotte hoped that wasn’t true, as delicious scents were always wafting up the steps.
As the coffeepot now held enough of the steaming brew to fill a mug, Charlotte pulled out the pot and poured herself a cup.
The first sip got her neurons firing. Instead of sitting at the table, she returned to the window and watched a crowd of Good Hope’s movers and shakers crossing the town square, headed in the direction of Muddy Boots.
She hadn’t been gone so long that she didn’t remember that the quaint café was the place where this group of young professionals gathered on Sunday mornings.
Narrowing her gaze, Charlotte searched the group for her new business partner, Marigold Rallis.
Charlotte smiled when she spotted the petite blonde with the mass of curly hair strolling hand in hand with her husband, Cade. Their newborn son sat nestled in the crook of his arm.
What was the kid’s name? Marigold had mentioned it numerous times. It started with a C. Charlotte took another sip of coffee, and the caffeine jolted the name free. Caleb.
He was a cute baby, bald as her uncle Scott, but with a sweet face and button nose.
Charlotte hoped when she finally had a baby, it would be a girl. Healthy was her first hope. Then a girl. It seemed to her, a girl would be easier for a single mother to raise.
A smile lifted her lips as she imagined a miniature version of herself. Then the smile faded. Her baby plans had been put on hold. That’s where they would stay. At least until the salon and day spa started turning a hefty profit.
IVF, her last hope for having a child, didn’t come cheap.
It was too bad insemination couldn’t be fun rather than so…clinical. Then again, anything other than clinical would be kind of creepy.
Last night with Adam had been pleasant. Actually, more than pleasant. But she reminded herself, the time for fun was over. She needed to get down to business.
In less than thirty minutes, she was dressed and ready to head out the door. Her mother might call her high maintenance, but Charlotte was an expert at getting herself ready for the day with little wasted effort.
For now, the salon remained closed. David Chapin, Marigold’s stepbrother and an award-winning architect, had drawn up the renovation plans gratis. Kyle Kendrick, who along with his father ran a multinational construction firm, had a small crew on-site daily.
Since Kyle and David were business partners, he’d given her and Marigold a good price on the renovation.
Charlotte decided to walk to the salon and check on the progress. Last night had energized her, and she was ready to get moving.
As the sun shone warm today, she’d donned a pair of cropped pants and a sleeveless white top with just enough eyelets to make it interesting. Her skin had a hint of a tan, and the white provided a pleasing contrast.
Though there was no one she wanted to impress, she made it a point not to leave home without looking her best. She even took time to apply red to her lips.
She glanced at her wedge sandals. They would be comfortable enough for a walk to the salon. Heck, she’d be comfortable wearing heels. But she’d already noticed that not many women here wore heels with cropped pants.
Her goal was to fit in, not stand out.
She hesitated when she reached the main floor, tempted by the enticing aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Answering the siren call, she entered the bakery.
The young woman behind the counter glanced in her direction and flashed a bright smile. “How may I help you?”
Charlotte glanced at the glass bake case. “I was going to get a cinnamon roll, but that…” She pointed to a pastry with flaky buttery layers inside and caramelized burnt sugar on the outside. “Looks intriguing.”
“That’s a kouign amann,” the girl told her as the bells over the door jingled. “It’s very popular. Think of it as sort of a cross between a croissant and a palmier.”
“Decisions. Decisions.” Charlotte tapped a finger against her mouth, conscious of a line forming behind her.
“You could get one of each.” The girl offered a hopeful smile and slid open the back of the bake case, prepared for Charlotte’s decision.
“Good thought.” Charlotte pulled out her wallet. “Put them in separate sacks, please.”
“Absolutely.”
In a matter of minutes, Charlotte was out the door with two white bakery bags in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. She wasn’t sure which pastry she would eat once she got to the salon, but she knew she couldn’t go wrong with either one.
She decided to cut across the town square. Unlike Marigold’s current salon, which commanded a prime spot on Main Street, Golden Door sat several streets off the beaten path.
Charlotte didn’t mind the walk, but as she crossed Main, she realized the booths she’d seen from her window weren’t from last night’s celebration. Most of these held fruits and vegetables.
Some showcased jewelry and other trinkets, but the majority of booths held produce. She saw tomatoes, peppers, potatoes. There were baskets of sweet corn and one booth devoted totally to herbs.
“Charlotte.”
The sound of her name had a shiver traveling down her spine. She turned and locked eyes with the man who’d murmured her name over and over last night in a sexy rasp.
Adam stood beside the chair of an older man, who had a weathered face and kind eyes, in a booth labeled Pure Orgasmic.
She blinked at the sign, reading it correctly this time. Pure Organic.
With lips twisted in a wry smile, Charlotte sauntered over. This, she reminded herself, was why she never went out without looking her best. You never knew who you might run into.
Adam didn’t look like he’d spent half the night in her bed getting very little sleep. He was freshly shaven, and his dark wavy hair gleamed in the sunshine. The smile he flashed was warm and friendly.
“Hard at work already.” She kept her tone light and friendly. “I’m impressed.”
“Traffic will pick up in an hour or so,” the older man said. “That’s when the after-church crowd will descend and pick us clean.” He rose from the chair with great effort, but steadied once he was on his feet. He extended his hand. “I’m Stan Vogele, Adam’s father. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“I thought—” Adam began.
“Charlotte McCray. It’s nice to meet you.” She closed her hand around the older man’s and glanced in Adam’s direction. “I’ve heard only good things.”
Stan glanced at her bakery bags. “Looks like you’ve already done some shopping.”
“Sweet treats for two sweet guys.” Charlotte set both bags on the counter behind the vegetables. “You’re going to have to decide who gets the cinnamon roll and who gets the kouign amann. Both look like winners to me.”
“You don’t have to give us your pastries,” Adam protested, though the spark of pleasure in his eyes sent a rush of warmth through her.
“I feel certain your father taught you how to receive a gift gracefully.” Charlotte shot Stan a wink.
He grinned and looked at his son. “I like her.”
Only then did Charlotte realize this interaction was at risk of heading down a dangerous track. Befriending Adam’s dad wasn’t exactly no-strings behavior.
It shouldn’t matter if Stan liked her.
It shouldn’t matter if Adam liked her.
The fact that it did matter was distressing.
“I’d love to st
ay and get better acquainted, but you need to work and so do I. It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Vogele.”
“Stan. Please call me Stan.”
“I hope you have a very productive day, Stan.” Charlotte smiled at Adam, wiggled her fingers and turned to leave.
Slipping swiftly from the restraining hand Adam moved to place on her arm, Charlotte began walking away. Behind her, she heard Adam call to his father as he hurried to catch up.
“I’ll be right back, Dad.”
“Take your time.”
“I enjoyed spending time with you last night,” he said as he fell into step beside her.
She slowed and turned. His brown eyes were warm and, given the chance, capable of piercing the ice shield she’d built around her heart.
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”
Obviously not the response he’d been expecting as surprise skittered across his face. “Why not?”
Charlotte stopped and placed a hand flat against his chest. A mistake she realized immediately. Touching him brought too many memories surging forth. She dropped her hand. For good measure, she took a step back. “I want to be direct with you.”
His gaze grew watchful, and he studied her with an inscrutable expression. “Please do.”
“You’re a great guy, but—”
“Not for you.”
Wasn’t that obvious? Charlotte thought. But then she remembered last night and their easy familiarity, not just in bed, but out of it.
It had been like that at first with Jake. Until they’d gotten to know each other better, and Charlotte had realized he saw her more as property than as a partner. By that point, they’d been married. And she’d realized what had seemed like a whirlwind romance was really a colossal mistake.
“It’s not just that. Last night was great. A happy break from the stress of our daily lives. You’re building a business. So am I. I have little time for anything else. I assumed we were both on the same page about what last night was.”
Regret surged over the misunderstanding. Charlotte had believed he understood she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.
Adam studied her for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if she was simply playing hard to get, or if she was serious.
“Good luck with your new business.” He surprised her by lightly brushing her mouth with his. “I know your salon will be a huge hit.”
Before she had a chance to say anything—and, really, what more was there to say?—he turned on his heel and strode back in the direction of the Pure Organic booth.
As she watched him go, she sighed. This was the right course of action. She assured herself the twinge of regret she was experiencing was normal.
Though she’d enjoyed her time with him, she didn’t want, nor need, a man in her life permanently. She had the ability to earn her own way and be successful. Being single meant she could spend the money she earned as she saw fit.
If she wanted to take a trip, she’d take a trip. If she wanted to use it all to try to get pregnant, that’s what she’d do. And, once she had that child, she wouldn’t have anyone telling her how to raise her daughter or son.
Too many of her friends in California had ex-husbands or ex-boyfriends with loads of opinions on how to raise children, while they left the women to do all the actual work. That’s what made in vitro so perfect.
Being a single mother might not be for everyone.
For her, it would be a perfect fit.
Monday morning, Charlotte glanced around Marigold’s, the salon on Good Hope’s Main Street. Her business partner had told her when they were combining their businesses that she would really miss the cozy salon she’d opened when she first moved back to Door County. Charlotte could understand why.
Though small, the salon was warm and welcoming, yet stylish. Beneath her feet, the dark hardwood gleamed. The tin ceiling above appeared original to the building.
The ceiling gave the room a vintage vibe, as did the exposed-brick wall. On the dark gray surface of the opposing wall, someone had painted several oversized flowers. Charlotte wondered if this was more of Izzie Deshler’s work.
The jewel in the room’s crown was the chandelier, a vintage Capodimonte porcelain from Italy. The ceramic flowers were hand-painted. Marigold had already informed her that the chandelier was coming to the new salon.
Charlotte smiled, recalling Marigold’s vehemence on the point. She loved her new partner’s energy and missed seeing her in the salon. For the past two days, Charlotte had been here alone.
Marigold was taking a month of well-deserved time off to spend with her husband and new baby. Since the business she and Charlotte were opening together was still under construction, Charlotte didn’t mind taking over Marigold’s appointments at her salon.
She loved seeing clients and much preferred dealing with hair over paperwork. Unfortunately, when a two-hour block of time opened that afternoon due to a late cancellation, inventory had moved to the top of her to-do list.
Picking up a mug filled with freshly brewed coffee, Charlotte took a step toward the back.
The jingle of the bells over the door had her inwardly cheering. She set down her mug with a smile. She loved walk-ins. Especially now. Not only might she pick up a new client, but it meant inventory would have to wait.
“Welcome to Marigold’s.” She turned, and the sight of the looming man had a smile blossoming on her lips. “Adam.”
Charlotte couldn’t stop the warm rush of pleasure coursing through her veins. He’d been on her mind and now, here he was.
He stepped farther into the shop, and everything closed in around them. All that existed was her and him.
She cleared her throat. “If you’re looking for Marigold, she’s not here. She’s taking time off to be with the baby. I’m running solo here until the new salon opens.”
Realizing with sudden horror that she was rambling, Charlotte clamped her mouth shut.
For several heartbeats, he said nothing, just studied her with that easy smile. “Can you cut hair?”
Charlotte stiffened before realizing he was teasing.
“I’m a quick learner.” She batted her eyelashes. “Can I practice on you?”
Adam laughed, and the warmth of the sound touched something inside her. “Sure. Give it your best shot. It can’t be worse than Stan’s efforts.”
This time, the shock was real. “You let Stan cut your hair?”
“Once.” Adam shook his head. “My dad is one of those guys who’s convinced he can do anything. One time was all it took with the hair.”
Charlotte gestured to the chair, and once he was seated, she took an assessing look. Dark and glossy with a hint of wave. The ends brushed his collar, and a cowlick at the back had strands going in two different directions.
Running her fingers through the strands, she delighted in the silky texture, just as she had two nights ago. “You don’t use product.”
He cocked his head, his expression quizzical.
“You know,” she gestured with a hand, “gel, wax, mousse. Styling products.”
He chuckled. “Nope.”
She met his gaze in the mirror. “I prefer to cut it dry.”
“Works for me.” He shrugged. “The stylist at the salon in Egg Harbor usually washes it, but it’s clean.”
“What made you come here?”
“They’re closed this week. Some kind of issue with the sewer. Stan told me this morning I was looking like a sheepdog. I didn’t want to wait to get it cut.”
“Well, we appreciate your business.” She kept her eyes on his hair as she spoke. “Just so you know, the reason I prefer to cut it dry is because your hair has a pronounced wave. Wet hair has more elasticity than dry hair. Having it dry allows me to cut a shape that takes into account your wave and cowlick.”
He spread his hands. “Whatever you think best.”
Charlotte eyed those broad hands. She remembered how stro
ng, yet gentle they’d been Saturday night as he’d stroked, caressed and aroused feelings that had lain dormant for years. He’d made her feel special, like someone precious.
She took a deep breath, then refocused on his hair. “If you’re feeling adventurous, I have something different I think you’d like.”
His eyes met hers in the mirror. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
As he seemed open to the idea of a change, she continued. “What’s popular right now is short on the sides and longer on top.”
At his quizzical glance, she thought of the men he knew. “Much like the cut Jeremy has right now, though that particular cut takes more work on his part. The one I’m considering for you is part messy and part refined. I’d do what’s called an undercut fade—which is basically shorter on the bottom—with messy waves on top.”
Adam’s dark brows drew together. “I’m not interested in anything that will take a lot of time and effort.”
“All you’ll need to do is apply some matte styling cream and leave everything tousled with a little side part. Super easy.”
He hesitated, and Charlotte prepared for him to tell her to just take off a couple inches.
Instead, he nodded. “Go for it.”
Twenty minutes later, Charlotte rubbed styling cream between her hands, then ran it through his hair. She turned the chair so he could see what she was doing.
“You put a small amount—it doesn’t take much, think pea-sized—rub it between your hands like I’m doing, then through this hair at the top. Make a side part, and you’re done.”
Adam stared in the mirror when she was finished.
As she removed the cape, he studied himself. “I look different.”
Not exactly the response she’d hoped for. She loved the style on him. The look worked equally well for the head of a Fortune 500 company or an organic farmer. It was especially flattering for someone with Adam’s bone structure. The cut emphasized the lines and angles of his face and highlighted those amazing eyes.
She’d liked his longish hair, but this stylish cut had her stomach fluttering.