Page 19 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

He reaches out to fist-bump me right when Flo returns with our lunches. We dig in, but as we eat, my mind wanders. All I can think about is how to create a special evening that will help me and Skylar get closer without freaking him out and sending him running in the opposite direction.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dear Journal (NOT a fucking diary!),

It’s me again. Fuck, this is weird. I’m not sure if I’m writing to myself or to some invisible entity that reads these entries like a creepy priest in a texting-only confessional. Eventually, I suppose I’ll get used to this. It is kind of nice to keep a record of what’s happening in my life right now though. It’s been busy, and in an actually good way. Surprise to me!

The Wright Cut is coming together beautifully, and I can’t wait to open my door to clients. I’ve been reading a real good book, Curl Me, Maybe: A Stylist’s Guide to the Hair and Fur of Otherkind, and gaining a lot of valuable info on how to work with the residents of Mystic Hollow. I’m kind of excited for the challenge.

My nightmares still fucking suck, but I’m not having them as often as I was before I came to Mystic Hollow. Hal’s feeding me every chance he gets, and I’ve gained back some of the weight I lost from the stress of the last year. I’m feeling healthier than I have in years. I never met a sasquatch before coming here, but Hal’s pretty cool and he doesn’t scare me despite his size. I consider that a win. He and Astraea both seem concerned about my well-being and… I kind of don’t know what to do with that. It’s been so long since anyone cared about me in that way. I’m trying not to push them away—I know that’s just a self-protection instinct to avoid getting hurt again. See? Therapy has helped and I can admit that. Dr. P would be thrilled.

The countdown is on until opening day, and I’m working long hours getting everything ready. I want it to be perfect. Finally, after all this time, I’m making my dream come true.

I won’t fail at this, right?

—Skylar Wright’s Personal Journal

Skylar

The warm light emanating from the front windows of the B&B is a comforting beacon of welcome. Much to my surprise, that’s what the big old Victorian is starting to feel like—home.

I climb the steps to the front porch and unlock the door.

When I step inside, I’m met by the mouth-watering aroma of whatever Hal’s cooked for dinner. My stomach immediately growls, and I realize I was so busy earlier that I forgot to eat lunch. Hal would worry himself silly if he knew. In the short time I’ve been staying here, the big-hearted sasquatch has watched over me more closely than anyone since my grandma. It’s all kinds of cute, but I have to wonder—Hal always seems so busy taking care of others, so who the hell takes care of him?

As if conjured by my thoughts, Hal steps out of the doorway leading to the kitchen. He’s wearing a new apron with rainbow hearts on it, and he flashes me a big, warm smile.

“Welcome back. Hope you’re hungry because I’ve cooked a feast.”

My traitorous stomach makes another loud noise, and I grimace.

I definitely won’t tell him I skipped lunch earlier.

Hal chuckles and gestures for me to follow him into the kitchen, where the breakfast nook is already set up for dinner. A vase with fresh flowers from the garden is now in the center of the table. It’s little touches like this that show me how much care Hal puts into his B&B. I want to do the same with my own business.

“Grab a plate and we’ll serve ourselves at the stove, if you don’t mind,” Hal says.

“Sounds good to me.”

I make my way toward the food and inhale deeply. Everything smells amazing. He wasn’t lying about the feast part—I’m not sure how the two of us will eat all of this.

“I’m already drooling,” I tell him.

“I made extra,” Hal explains. “Earlier, I packed up and delivered some individual meals to a few of our elderly residents on the block. They don’t always have the means or the energy to cook well-balanced meals for themselves, so I try to provide one for them at least once a week or so.”

Not gonna lie, I stare at him, gobsmacked. “Are you working on gaining sainthood or something?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “Hardly. I just like helping out my friends and neighbors. And everyone should be able to enjoy a hot, home-cooked meal on a regular basis.”

“Is this a sasquatch thing? Or a more generally Otherkind thing?”

He looks at me quizzically. “Don’t humans do such things for each other?”

I scoff. “Not anyone I know. Not unless it’s a job they’re paid to do.” Then I shrug. “I suppose there were some cool volunteers at the soup kitchens I went to when I was younger, but they weren’t providing the food out of their own pockets.”

“Well, you can help me with my deliveries next time if you’d like. Then you’ll witness firsthand just how much it means to folks.”

Unable to say no and remembering Dr. P’s regular suggestion to keep an open mind, I nod. “Sounds like a plan.”