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about the same thing. He hadn’t meant her when he’d made the comment about non-natives, but the truth of the double meaning was real enough. She was a non-native and her existence in town was changing things.
     
     
    Three days had passed since he’d kissed her. Aside from a meeting about what they’d need for the project, Carmen had spent those three days avoiding Ryan. Keeping busy with her friends had helped, but he’d commanded her thoughts frequently.
    He’d phoned, and she’d vowed to give Byron an earful for giving her number out. He’d called to her on the street, and she’d turned the other way pretending not to notice or hear him. He’d shown up at her apartment, and she’d pretended not to be home.
    The man’s determination was slightly admirable and a lot annoying. Every time she saw him or heard his voice in her voicemail she was transported back to the gazebo. Her body trembled again with the memory of his touch. A place inside her, a place she’d always kept hidden, wished he hadn’t stopped. Or that she’d had the courage to ask for more.
    It was a few minutes before closing, with the last appointments gone, when the salon door opened.
    “Secret wishes fade like a wind’s whisper. We’re as trustworthy as a favorite sister.” Vic often programmed short, suggestive messages in her custom door chime. The recent greeting was longer than normal, and less sexy, but as usual, it had been stirring up conversation and kept the salon hopping with gossip.
    “Welcome to The Whispering Salon,” Carmen said as she swept a small pile of hair into the dustpan. “I’ll be right with you.” 
    Welcoming the distraction that pulled her from her thoughts, she straightened and turned. Her wrist went lax, allowing the hair to tumble from the pan.
    Ryan stood inside the door in jeans, socks and a polo shirt embroidered with Alden Landscaping. He lifted a hand in a small wave.
    She wondered about his shoes, but only shook her head. Why couldn’t the man leave her alone? He’d complained about non-natives changing everything, yet he was the one in pursuit. If he wanted nothing to change he should stay away.
    “I need a trim.”
    Broom and empty dustpan in hand, she moved quickly and ducked into Vic’s office before he could argue. The relief on Vic’s face when she looked up from the laptop suggested she was working on her checkbook, her least favorite part of business ownership, and welcomed the distraction. “What’s up, Carmen?”
    “You have a client.”
    Vic looked through the two-way mirror that served as a window from her office. Her lips curled and she shook her head. “Sorry, he’s all yours.”
    “I can’t cut his hair. I can’t deal with him at all right now.”
    She checked her watch and shrugged. “You’re going to have to. I have to get home. The social worker is coming over to the house.”
    Carmen could refuse to help him, tell him to come back another day when one of the other girls was working. That wasn’t her, though. “Fine. He wants a haircut. I’ll give him a haircut.”
    Vic pressed her lips together, closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment. When she looked back at Carmen, she was near laughter. “Please don’t scalp him.”
    “He was a Marine. He can handle anything I do.”
    Vic gave up on resistance and laughed as Carmen headed back into the salon. With a jerk of her head, she gestured for him to follow her to the shampoo sink. She didn’t wait for him to sit before she turned the water on to adjust the temperature. Ryan grabbed a towel from the shelf and wrapped it around his neck before sitting in the chair and lowering his head into the sink.
    “I’m leaving, Carmen.” Vic waved as she headed to the front door with her keys in hand. She flipped the door sign to Closed. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Saying nothing more, she closed and locked the door behind her.
    Carmen hadn’t anticipated finding herself locked up with the man she’d