5. Naomi

"What am I going to do?" I was sitting at my parents' kitchen table with my head cradled in my hands.

The room had changed a hundred times since my childhood. The paint, the flooring, the furniture, the appliances. My mom was always changing things, but one thing that never changed was the way it smelled on Sunday, like warm bread with a hint of cinnamon and sugar.

My dad reached out and pulled my hands away from my face. "You can start by not hiding from a challenge."

"This is more than a challenge, Dad." This was life or death when it came to the business they'd built from nothing. The business I'd been working my ass off to grow for the last five years. "I've been looking for weeks. There's no way I can afford the rent at any of the places that will actually work as a salon."

He leaned back and crossed his tanned arms over his crisp, gray button-up shirt. Even in retirement, he still got up and got dressed like he was going to work. "Maybe not with what you're bringing in now, but Stonemore has changed a lot since we opened the salon."

"Yeah, it's become unaffordable for regular folks."

He smiled that warm smile of his. "No, it hasn't, as long as you keep up with the changes."

"Meaning I have to raise my prices."

"See, you already know what you need to do."

I puffed up my cheeks and blew out a breath. "My regulars aren't going to like it."

"Probably not, but imagine how they'll feel if you go out of business." He wasn't smug about making that point, and I also knew he wasn't pandering to me. My customers—Harlowe's customers—were a loyal bunch.

We might lose a few of them if we raised our prices, but that was the nature of business and inflation, right? It wasn't like any of our costs were going down. We might lose a few more by moving across town, but the alternative was shutting down.

I ground my teeth against the idea. Not happening.

"There it is," my dad said, a knowing smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Where is what?" Had I missed something?

"That inner fire." He pushed back from the table and offered me a hand. "Let me show you something."

I took his hand gently, wincing a little at the warmth radiating from his arthritic knuckles. That was the price he'd paid for working with hair for most of his adult life. Some of it had to do with age too, and genetics, but every time I saw the way his hands swelled before a storm, I couldn't help wondering how long it would be until I was in the same boat.

"Where are we going?" I asked, letting him lead me through the house like a lost child who hadn't grown up within these walls.

"The study." He let go of my hand as he pushed the door open.

The space was light, with sheers covering the big windows, filtering the harsh Colorado sunshine. At least a hundred pictures hung on those walls. Mismatched frames were scattered across the flat spread of ivory paint, but despite the initial sense of chaos, it was easy to see the passage of time as you followed those images around the room.

My dad pointed to the picture of him and my mom standing in front of Harlowe's on the day they opened. "I will never forget this day."

"You both look so happy." That was what I wanted. The kind of peace and confidence that shined through in that picture.

"We were, but we were also terrified."

My head snapped around. "You never told me that." All the stories I'd heard about my parents starting the company were full of grit and gumption. Not fear.

He stared at the photo for a long time before responding. "We were young. Neither one of us had ever started a business before. We put everything we had into it—almost every penny and every ounce of energy. Then, the night before we opened, your mother told me she thought she was pregnant."

My own anxiety inched up just thinking about it. I mean, I'd done the math, but I'd never really considered the timing of everything. "What did you do?"

"Went to the drugstore and spent our last seven dollars on a pregnancy test."

"No wonder you were terrified."

"But also thrilled." He leveled me with another one of his fatherly looks. "Excited beyond our wildest dreams."

"But so much was changing. How did you deal with it all?" I would have been a wreck. Oh, who was I kidding, I was already a hot mess, and my responsibilities had nothing to do with having a baby.

He placed a warm hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "By realizing there was only so much we could do."

I wanted to roll my eyes. Both of my parents had given me this lecture more times than I could remember. You can't control everything, Naomi. Quit worrying about everything else and focus on the things you can change.

"Message received." I smiled up at him a little grudgingly. How to apply that message might not be entirely clear, but I understood it.

He let his hand fall away. "You should talk to your mother when she gets back. She might be more helpful in this area."

Doubtful. Mom was the "fun" one with all her clever quips and juicy gossip. She was a firecracker. Dad was more like an old donkey, in all the best ways. He was steady and endlessly reliable, but he'd still kick you in the butt if you pushed him too far.

"Maybe next time." I made a show of pulling my phone out and checking the time. "I should get going."

He eyed me like he knew I was making up an excuse to escape before mom sauntered in after her weekly Sunday brunch. She was always so amped up after spending two hours with the other gossipy old ladies in Stonemore Heights, and I wasn't in the right headspace to deal with her unique brand of enthusiasm.

Dad let out a little sigh, but he didn't call me out. Instead, he escorted me to the front door, kissed me on the forehead, and said, "Just remember, baby girl, the best things in life usually make you quake in your boots at first."

I swallowed hard. It'd been a long time since he'd called me that. "Thanks, Dad." I threw my arms around him and squeezed. "I'll let you know how it goes."

He hugged me back, then backed up and held me at arm's length, hitting me with a stern stare. "Don't be afraid to ask for help. Your mother and I might have started Harlowe's on our own, but we had people in our corner that we could call when things got tough."

I drove back to my house feeling better than I had since this whole nightmare started. Until I pulled up to see Tyler sitting on my porch steps. He was dressed in a different pair of torn jeans and a dark gray t-shirt that didn't quite hug his upper body. It didn't leave a lot to the imagination either.

"Fuck me," I muttered. So much for my budding good mood.

He stood when he saw me pulling into my driveway but didn't make a move for my car. Not even when I just sat there and glared at him through my window.

Was it pathetic that I was seriously debating putting my car in reverse and finding somewhere else to be for the rest of the day?

"Yes," I grumbled. "I did not wake up today to be a weak ass bitch." Latching onto that little nugget of self-assurance, I huffed out a breath and opened my door.

Don't get riled, Naomi. Stay calm. Stay cool. Everything is fine.

That was the mantra I repeated in my head while I took my sweet time grabbing my purse and phone. I'd waited for Tyler to call or stop by for over a week after our little incident.

It was his turn to wait.

When I turned and shut my door, he was still standing there with an unreadable look on his face. If his visit was meant to be a friendly one, he would have been smiling. That was a safe assumption, wasn't it?

No smile meant not friendly. That was how I was approaching the situation.

"What do you want, Fox? Are you here to try to kick me out before my lease is up?" I asked as I marched toward him.

His eyes hardened and his jaw ticked like he was about to fire back a snarky response, but after a beat he held up his hands. "I just came here to talk."

My forward momentum stalled a few yards shy of where he was standing. "Unless you're reconsidering the rental situation, there's not much to say."

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "The decision about what to do with the building has been made. There's nothing I can do about it."

"Bullshit. It's your building." I didn't know what was worse; how freaking attracted I was to a guy I hated, or the fact that said guy was standing between me and the comfort and safety of my little house.

"Come on, Naomi. These things happen in business. Didn't you say you were working on lining up a new location?" He searched my face. "How's that going?"

"Great," I lied.

Now, shut your mouth. Do not give him one more scrap of information.

"I found the perfect place across town. Lots of natural light, and it's so big."

What the hell was wrong with me?

Never mind that I could picture the place I was talking about. I'd stared at the photos online an embarrassing number of times over the past couple of weeks. What I hadn't done was contact the property manager to do a walkthrough. It was just too far out of my price range.

The move would be expensive enough as it was. Harlowe's would need a new sign, anything with our current address on it would have to be replaced, the website would need to be updated, and that was the tip of the iceberg. Then there was the actual, physical moving of all the things.

Also, the place I really wanted wasn't set up as a salon. It had potential, sure. But I doubted there was enough plumbing and wiring to support a bank of shampoo sinks, a half dozen dryer chairs, and a dozen styling stations.

I'd done the math. In a best-case scenario, I could get away with running a crew of six hairdressers. If I set up the salon for the bare minimum, however, it would make it a lot tougher to grow down the road.

Assuming there was any growth to be found in the Heights.

On the other hand, if I set it up the way I really wanted to, I would be sinking my entire life savings and then some into the upgrades.

When I finally dragged myself out of my head, I realized Tyler was watching me with a question in his eyes. "Can we set down the swords for a minute and talk like two normal people?"

Could we? I had some serious doubts about that.

"What do you want, Tyler?"

He glanced toward my porch and rubbed his lips together. "How much do you remember?" Awareness slinked across my skin when I realized what he was asking a half second before he went on. "About that night on your porch."

His gaze snapped back to me like he was pulling himself out of the memory, and if I'd been even a smidge more gullible, I might have believed the desire I saw burning there.

I inched back a step. "You're going to have to refresh my memory. What night was that again?" Yeah, I was being a bitch. Because who the hell did he think he was insinuating I was too drunk to remember kissing him?

His brow pulled together in a scowl. "The night I gave you a ride home from the bar and we..." He motioned to the spot by the door where I'd made one of the most embarrassing mistakes of my adult life.

I was just about to open my mouth and read him the riot act for asking about it when Sparrow jumped up in the front window and let out a single, irritated bark. Tyler turned to look at him, and I used the opportunity to skirt around him and head up my porch steps.

Saved by the bark.

"Hey, we're not done yet," he said, starting up behind me.

The second my foot landed on my porch, I wheeled around. "Yeah, we are."

"I asked you a question."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, holding my ground despite the slight wobble in my knees. Goddamn him. Had he always been so freaking intimidating?

"I disagree." He eased up another step. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

He couldn't be more wrong. Plus, I was too pissed to deal with him in a civil way.

No, this went beyond pissed. He hurt me, and as much as I hated admitting it, even to myself, the way he did it had nothing to do with the damned building. Or my business. Even if he fell to his knees and groveled at my feet in apology—which he would never do—I didn't want to hear it.

Once bitten and all that.

"If you're not here about Harlowe's, then do us both a favor and go home. Or wherever bartending whores go when the bars are closed," I snapped, regretting the words the instant they were out of my mouth.

Instead of hurt or anger, amusement flitted across his face. "Is that how you see me? As a bartending whore?"

"Yes." I bit my tongue. I was better than this. Shaking my head, I offered him an apologetic shrug. "No. Well, not entirely," I amended.

He rose up on the last step before the porch landing, bringing us almost eye-to-eye. Even with a seven-inch disadvantage he was still an inch taller than me, and this close, the warm scent of him—a whisper of fabric softener, a hint of cologne, and a whole lot of man—wrapped around me like a sensual embrace.

Not fair.

"Money never changed hands," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"What?" I was too caught up in how close he was and that irresistible smell to make sense of his words.

"Whores get paid for what they do. I never have." He was messing with me. Teasing.

But why?

I backed away from him. "Bartending slut then?"

He tipped his head. "That would be more accurate." Then the ass actually stepped up onto my porch.

Images of that night hit me one after another. I'd been succeeding in blocking them out for the last few minutes, but with him looming in front of me with that look in his eye, I couldn't stem the tide.

"Tyler." I put my hands up and put more space between us. "I can't do this with you."

"It's a simple question, Naomi." The humor that had been dancing in his expression dimmed. "Just tell me. Do you remember that night?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because it matters."

My keys were fisted so tightly in my hand the tiny metal teeth dug into my palm. I shot a longing look over my shoulder at my front door. My sanctuary was just a few short paces away.

"Fine." I huffed out a frustrated breath and met his searching gaze. If he wanted to know, I would tell him. "I was tipsy that night, not drunk, and I remember..." I shook my head, hating the heat that was rising in my cheeks. "Everything. I?—"

Before I could go on about how much I regretted making such a stupid, embarrassing mistake, he closed the distance between us. His hands came up, bracketing my face, and he crushed his lips to mine in a dizzying kiss that made my pulse stutter and every nerve ending in my body come alive.

Part of me wanted that kiss, and him, so badly. I'd thought about him and dreamed about him more than any sane woman should. I also might have burned through the batteries in my vibrator imagining how the night could have gone if he hadn't walked away.

The other part of me was a different story. She was on the defensive and still too wounded by everything that had gone wrong in my life recently to take Tyler's sudden interest at face value.

I wrenched out of his grip. "You asshole," I hissed. "I remember that night as clearly as I remember the days and nights after it. You know, the ones where you didn't say six words to me combined. And then you show up here and pull this shit?"

It took all my control to keep my voice at a normal volume. My hands were shaking. Every muscle in my back was pulled tight. But the dread swirling in my stomach had nothing to do with anger.

No, that was all fear and worry and confusion, and I hated myself for it.

"Damn," he said, staring at me in disbelief. He reached up and ran his fingers across his lips. "That wasn't the reaction I was expecting."

"You're lucky I didn't slap you."

He eased back a step. "Or knee me in the balls?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Because you're not interested or because you're upset with me for not calling?"

Wow. The nerve of this guy.

"Because you're you and I'm me." I motioned between us. "That kiss that night was a mistake and we both know it."

He studied me for a minute. The seconds ticked by at an excruciating pace, and everything around us was way too quiet. Where were the birds? The kids riding bikes? All I could hear was the rapid whomp-whomp, whomp-whomp of my pulse hammering inside my head.

Has he always had this effect on me?

He'd always set me on edge, but it wasn't anything like this.

Was it?

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. "I owe you an apology."

Oh no. It was way too late for that.Plus, my life was in enough chaos as it was, and the last thing I needed was Stonemore's most notorious playboy wreaking havoc on my heart.

Ghost me once, shame on you...

"Keep your apology. I just want you to leave. Please." I motioned out to the sidewalk, noticing for the first time that his beloved Impala was parked across the street.

Instead of turning around and seeing himself off my porch, he just kept standing there, watching me like he was trying to figure out a math problem on a whiteboard.

"Goodbye, Tyler," I said, putting emphasis on the bye.

Something must have finally clicked in his brain because his stance and his expression shifted. "Right." He sucked air through his teeth and nodded. "See you around, Naomi."

Then he strolled down my steps and down the sidewalk to his car, leaving me torn between feeling proud that I stood up for myself and like I might have just made a horrible mistake.