Hazel didn’t want to tell Dylan what he’d done wrong. It sounded stupid inside her own brain, and she’d been battling with her emotions for five weeks. But he stood before her in all his handsome cowboy glory, from that charcoal hat, to his black polo, to those long, jean-clad legs.
He’d been brave. She wondered how much courage it took to drive into town to see someone who wouldn’t call you back.
“Sit down,” she said, more of a barking command than the gentle way she’d intended.
Dylan blinked and returned to the salon chair. She pulled a drape from the hook along the back wall and fanned it around his neck. Her fingers brushed his skin as she snapped the cape, and a shiver ran from her shoulders to her toes.
“You just want this cleaned up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hazel melted from the outsid
