Child of Her Dreams. Joan Kilby
through her. Embarrassment because it wasn’t every day a man turned her down—for any reason.
Orville returned to his work with a flourish of comb and scissors. Geena sauntered to the counter and perched on the edge, facing Ben. The only way to get over embarrassment was to meet it head-on. “Hi, there.”
“Hi, yourself.” His warm gaze traveled over her. “All of Hainesville is wilting in the heat, and yet you manage to look like the proverbial cucumber.”
“It’s an illusion, cultivated by years spent in front of klieg lights,” Geena said lightly. She turned to the barber. “So, Orville, what hair magic are you working on the doctor? A quiff? A coif?”
“Just a trim,” Orville said, snipping carefully around Ben’s ears. “Right, Doc?”
Ben nodded. Geena wriggled farther onto the counter. “Orville used to cut my hair, too.”
“Until at the very grown-up age of six you decided you required a stylist and made your grandmother take you to the beauty salon in Simcoe,” Orville elaborated.
“That was before Wendy opened up shop here.” Geena eyed Ben, her head tilted to one side. “With that goatee and mustache, and draped in that black hairdresser’s cape, you look a little like Zorro.”
Ben’s right eyebrow rose, giving him a wicked, humorous expression. “You like, señorita?”
“It’s rather nineties,” she teased, meaning the goatee. “But I guess you can get away with it in Hainesville.”
“Are you suggesting this isn’t the fashion capital of the Pacific northwest?” Orville demanded, reaching for hair gel. “That everything’s not up-to-date in Kansas City?”
“Hainesville isn’t on the fashion map,” Ben replied for her. “I daresay it’s not even on the same planet as Paris or Milan.” He held up a copy of the magazine in his lap, which, to Geena’s surprise, turned out to be Vogue—with her photo on the cover. “As you can see, I’m studying up on the matter.”
Geena glanced down—and saw a two-page spread of herself at a New York fashion show three seasons ago. “Ugh. I was so fat back then. Orville, what are you doing with Vogue in your waiting room? You used to have nothing but Rod and Gun and Readers’ Digest.”
“Kelly dropped them off—she said she was distributing her old copies around town rather than throwing them away. You’d be surprised how many men pick them up.”
The bell over the door sounded, and a man Geena didn’t know came in. Orville excused himself and went to the desk to make the newcomer an appointment.
Ben continued to peruse the photos of Geena. “The extra weight looked good on you.”
“I was hideous. Flip the page.” She began arranging Orville’s brushes and combs, spreading them out in a fan on the counter. She didn’t know what was worse—Ben seeing her that way or Ben admiring her that way.
Ben’s voice was quiet but penetrating. “You’re beautiful, Geena. Why you don’t like yourself?”
A jolt ran through her. Her gaze jerked up to meet his in the mirror. “What are you talking about? Of course I like myself.” Then she realized she was being too intense and shrugged, adding lightly, “After that show some young thang from Georgia took over top billing. I had to do something to get my mojo back.”
Ben said nothing, just slowly shook his head. The silence worked on her, conjuring conflicting voices.
People told her she was beautiful all the time. It meant nothing.
He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it.
Ben was a doctor, concerned about the health effects of low body weight.
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