25. Aria

25

ARIA

My phone buzzes, yanking me out of my Dash-induced thought spiral. His puppy dog eyes and that ridiculous overnight vigil outside my apartment door are burned into my brain like an embarrassing tattoo I can’t quite cover up. What was he thinking? And why does the thought of him out there, vulnerable and devoted, make my chest ache like I was sucker punched by my own emotions?

Quinn’s name flashes on the screen. I hesitate, my stomach doing a weird flip-flop thing that I’m definitely not ready to analyze.

“Aria?” Quinn’s voice crackles through, buzzing with more energy than my second cup of coffee. “The salon had a makeover. You have to see this. Can you meet me?”

I chew my lip, picturing the sad, empty shell of a space from our last visit. “Already? Damn, Quinn, you work faster than my ability to process all this change.”

“What can I say? I’m a man on a mission.” He chuckles. “Come on, where’s that fearless Aria I admire from afar?”

Despite my better judgment screaming at me to stay put, I’m intrigued. “Alright, Einstein. I’ll be there in twenty. Try not to remodel the whole block before I arrive.”

I hang up and stare at my phone, feeling like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. Quinn’s enthusiasm is infectious, but Dash’s scent—citrus and ocean breeze—still lingers in my nostrils, mixing confusingly with thoughts of Quinn’s lavender and bergamot. It’s like my brain is hosting the world’s most confusing perfume party.

Shaking my head, I grab my jacket and keys. I need a distraction, and Quinn’s salon makeover might be just the thing—or it might be another complication in my already overly complicated life. There’s only one way to find out.

As I lock up, I glance down the empty hallway, half expecting to see a rumpled Dash still camped out. The corridor is deserted, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. Welcome to the emotional roller coaster that is my life.

The crisp autumn air hits me as I step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. By the time I reach the storefront, I’ve almost convinced myself that I’m excited about this new venture with Quinn.

Almost.

I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks. The storefront is unrecognizable, like it went through puberty overnight and came out the other side looking like a movie star. Gone is the faded awning and peeling paint. In its place stands a sleek, modern facade with floor to ceiling windows that gleam in the afternoon sun. A stylish sign proclaims “Aria’s Oasis” in elegant script. My name is right there for everyone to see. It’s surreal, and for a moment, I’m overwhelmed by the implications.

This is real.

This is happening.

I’m terrified.

Quinn is bouncing on his toes outside the salon, looking like a kid who’s had way too much sugar. The street bustles with the usual noise—honking cars, chattering pedestrians, and the hum of city life—but all I can focus on is the gleam in Quinn’s eyes.

“You made it.” He grins, looking like he’s about to burst. “Ready for the grand reveal?”

I arch an eyebrow, trying to play it cool even though my heart’s doing the cha-cha. “You’ve hyped it up, so let’s see if it lives up to the Quinn standard of excellence.”

We step inside, and I stop, stunned. The musty smell is gone, replaced by the fresh scent of paint and possibility. The walls, once drab and uninspiring, now pop with a soothing sage green. Boxes are everywhere, some open to reveal sleek, gleaming salon chairs and shiny new sinks. It’s like someone took all my daydreams and made them real.

“Holy shit,” I murmur, turning in a slow circle. “Quinn, this is… wow. Did you sell your soul to a home improvement demon or something?”

He beams, pride radiating off him like a radioactive glow. “Right? I couldn’t wait to show you. Look at this.” He leads me to a corner where a living wall has been installed, lush greenery cascading down like a tiny jungle oasis. “For that zen vibe we talked about, because nothing says ‘relax’ like the constant fear of plant murder, right?”

I run my fingers over a soft leaf, marveling at the texture and coolness. “It’s perfect, and these colors are exactly what I had in mind. Are you sure you didn’t hack into my brain while I was sleeping?”

I turn to Quinn, a mixture of awe and gratitude washing over me. “Damn, Quinn. It’s… It’s incredible, and the name… Aria’s Oasis… I don’t know what to say. I’m not usually this speechless. You might want to record this moment for posterity.”

He shrugs, but I see the pleasure in his eyes. “When I’m inspired, I work fast, and you, Aria, are very inspiring. The name… Well, this place is going to be your sanctuary, isn’t it? Your oasis. A place where you can hide from all the alpha drama and maybe occasionally cut some hair.”

There’s a weight to his words that makes me pause. I glance away, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. “Well, you’ve certainly outdone yourself. I’m impressed and slightly terrified of what you could accomplish if you ever decide to take over the world.”

Quinn takes a step closer, his voice dropping low. “There’s more. Come see the treatment rooms. I promise they aren’t secret lairs for my world domination plans.”

As he leads me toward the back, I can’t help but notice the way his hand hovers near the small of my back, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palm. It’s an intimate gesture, one that sends a confusing mix of excitement and unease through me, because apparently, my body has decided to be a traitor today.

The treatment rooms are just as stunning as the main area, each one a cocoon of tranquility with soft lighting and soothing colors. As Quinn shows me around, pointing out features and asking for my opinion, I find myself relaxing as I get caught up in his enthusiasm.

“So what do you think?” he asks, turning to face me. “Is it everything you dreamed of? Or did I miss the ball pit and chocolate fountain?”

I nod, a smile spreading across my face. “It’s perfect, Quinn. Really. I can’t thank you enough, though now I kind of want a chocolate fountain.”

He takes my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. The gentle touch sends a shiver through me, and I find myself caught in Quinn’s intense gaze. He glances at my lips, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me. My heart races, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty swirling in my chest, because apparently, I’ve decided to audition for the lead role in Aria’s Complicated Life: The Saga Continues.

A loud crash from the main room breaks the spell. We jump apart, and I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Saved by the bell. Or the crash. Whatever.

“What was that?” I ask, grateful for the distraction. “Did gravity suddenly increase while we weren’t looking?”

Quinn frowns, heading toward the door. “Probably just one of the workers. Let me check. Try not to rearrange all the furniture while I’m gone.”

As he steps out, I lean against the wall, trying to steady my nerves. What just happened? More importantly, how do I feel about it? The moment with Quinn felt charged and exciting, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind, one that sounds suspiciously like Dash. Beneath it all is a darker whisper—what would Noah do if he knew about this place?

I shake my head, pushing thoughts of Dash and Noah aside. This is about the salon and my future. I can’t let personal complications cloud my judgment, even if those personal complications are tall, handsome, and smell really, really good.

When Quinn returns, his earlier intensity has been replaced by a businesslike demeanor. “Just a minor mishap with some supplies. All sorted now.” He claps his hands together. “No rogue furniture attacks to report.”

We spend the next hour exploring the space, Quinn pointing out each new addition with the enthusiasm of a kid at a science fair. The private booths are coming together, with sound-dampening panels already in place. There’s even a small area set aside for the self-defense classes we discussed, a tiny nod to my need for control and security. Nothing says relaxing spa day like the ability to roundhouse kick an attacker, right?

As we unpack chairs, our hands brush, and I glance up to find Quinn watching me, his expression soft and a little bit unguarded.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. “Do I have future salon mogul written on my forehead?”

He shrugs, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Just… enjoying the view. You look happy, Aria. It suits you. It’s much better than your usual one sarcastic comment away from committing a felony look.”

I feel a flush creeping up my neck. “Yeah, well… this is pretty amazing. I can’t believe how quickly it’s all coming together. Are you sure you aren’t secretly a time lord?”

Quinn sets the chair down, his tone turning serious. “I meant what I said. I believe in you, Aria. In us. This salon isn’t just a business, it’s a fresh start—a place where you can be yourself without all the alpha posturing and omega expectations.”

His words hit me somewhere deep, and for a moment, I let myself picture the future he’s hinting at, but reality is quick to creep back in, bringing with it thoughts of the other alphas, of Noah, and all the tangled threads of my life that I haven’t quite figured out.

“I need you to know,” I say softly, meeting his gaze, “that this salon is like my own personal escape hatch, you know? But… there’s still a lot I’m sorting through with the pack, with… everything. It’s like I’m juggling chainsaws while riding a unicycle on a tightrope over a pit of lava.”

Quinn nods, understanding clear in his eyes. “I get it. We’ll take it one line of code at a time, okay? No system overload. And hey, if you need help with those chainsaws, I know a guy.”

As we finish up, I take one last look around. The space hums with potential, with dreams waiting to unfold.

“What do you see now?” Quinn asks gently, his voice pulling me back.

I meet his gaze, feeling a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. “I see a future where I’m calling the shots, not just ducking them, and a place where I can be Aria, not just that omega or the girl running from her past . ”

Quinn’s smile is radiant, and for a moment, I let myself bask in the warmth of his approval. As we lock up and step out onto the street, though, reality comes crashing back. The salon may be a dream come true, but my life is still a tangled web of pack politics and conflicting emotions.

“Dinner?” Quinn suggests, gesturing toward a cozy bistro down the block. “We could celebrate our progress. I promise not to bore you with coding analogies for at least the first course.”

I hesitate, torn between the desire to prolong this bubble of possibility and the nagging feeling that I need to sort through my thoughts alone. “I should probably head home,” I say. “It’s been a long day, and I have a lot to process… like an entire hard drive’s worth.”

Disappointment flickers across Quinn’s face, but he nods in understanding. “Of course. Take all the time you need, Aria. I’ll be here when you’re ready, probably building a robot army or something equally productive.”

I nibble my cheek, looking around. The thought of going back to my empty apartment, with its echoes of Dash’s vigil and Noah’s ever-present shadow, suddenly feels unbearable. “Or,” I say, surprising myself, “we can order takeout and keep unpacking? I mean, if you aren’t sick of me yet.”

Quinn’s eyes light up at my suggestion. “Now that’s an idea I can get behind,” he says, grinning. “Chinese? There’s a great place just around the corner. They make dumplings that could make you forget all about alpha drama.”

I nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement. “Perfect. I’m starving. Feed me before I turn into a hangry omega monster.”

We call in our order and return to the salon, the familiar scent of fresh paint and new beginnings welcoming us back. As we wait for the food, we continue unpacking, our conversation flowing easily between salon plans and casual banter.

The food arrives, and we settle on the floor, surrounded by half assembled furniture and stacks of boxes. It feels oddly intimate, like we’re sharing a secret.

“To Aria’s Oasis,” Quinn says, tapping his chopsticks against mine. “May it be as resilient as its namesake, and may we never run out of hair dye or sarcastic comebacks.”

I laugh, returning the gesture. “To Aria’s Oasis,” I echo, pushing away thoughts of Dash, Noah, and the complications that await outside these walls. For now, I let myself enjoy this moment of peace and possibility. “Where the hair spray is plentiful and the drama is… well, let’s not kid ourselves. There will probably still be drama.”

As we eat, I find myself relaxing, the weight of the past few days lifting slightly. Quinn tells me about his plans for the grand opening, his enthusiasm infectious. I chip in with ideas about promotions and services, and for a while, it’s easy to forget about everything else, but as the night wears on, I can’t help but wonder how long I can keep juggling these different worlds before something gives or before I accidentally set one of those chainsaws on fire.