Eight
“It should be short.”
Charlotte tried not to be distracted by the bulge of Malcolm’s biceps as he loomed, arms folded, legs spread, as if he was ready to take the salon by storm. “It’s Gavin’s hair. The length and cut is his choice.”
For his part, Gavin sat in the stylist’s chair, looking amused that the two of them were arguing about such a thing. The one point they agreed on was that he needed some kind of haircut. His dark brown hair was shaggy and unkempt, long enough to pull into a stubby tail. He hadn’t had any kind of cut or shaping in more than a year.
The stylist, a twenty-something woman with a stud in her nose and purple streaks in her own brunette hair, watched the byplay for a few more moments before turning to him. “Are your parents always this opinionated about hai
