Chapter 3

I walked through dirty gray slush that matched the clouds above as I drank my drink on the way to the salon. After getting my cosmetology license, getting a job at a salon hadn't been easy. But as much as I liked Maria and the bakery, that was her dream. I loved helping people feel beautiful and look their best. The cut the salon took meant I broke even more often than I walked away with money, but I was still growing my client list. With all the holiday closures, I really, really hoped for a lot of walk-ins so I wouldn't need to worry about being evicted.

Barely two steps inside the salon, I took off my hat and stuffed it into my bag.

"Lia!"

I snapped my head in the direction of the stylist calling my name.

Charlotte had quickly become my best friend at the salon. We'd bonded when she'd seen the latest Ella Glass novel fall out of my bag, and had sent me a couple of clients when she was overbooked. She and her client were the only ones in the room.

"After you get your coat hung up, can you grab the toner for me from the back?" she asked. "I accidentally left the bowl on the counter."

I smiled, "Sure thing."

There was a small break slash laundry room for us to keep our things in and wash towels. I found my locker and stashed my stuff, I looked at the corkboard above the coffee maker, looking for an envelope with my name on it that would mean I had a check. Until I saw that amount I wasn't sure exactly how much I needed to earn this week. There were no envelopes on the board for me or anyone else. Spotting the black bowl next to the sink, I picked it up and hurried out to the front.

Charlotte thanked me, and continued to work the toner into her client's hair. Her client scrolled on her phone and I reminded Charlotte about the book she needed to read for book club. "We had a call in earlier. She said nothing fancy, just a cut for her daughter before school starts back up. I put her on your books as you had the only opening."

"I can do that." I smiled. "Did she indicate if it's a trim or a major cut?"

"She said she wanted the kid's hair really, really short."

I didn't like the sound of that, depending on the girl's age, super short hair didn't get asked for. But I also needed a paycheck badly enough that I couldn't afford to decline a client based on a gut feeling.

"I didn't see checks on the board. Do you know if they were put somewhere else?" I asked.

"The boss should be in late." Charlotte rolled her beautiful toffee-colored eyes, "She decided to go on a last-minute vacation to the Bahamas last week, so fingers crossed she's back."

In the few months I'd been here, I'd discovered the boss took a lot of vacations and wrote a lot of late checks as a result. On more than one occasion my weekly promised check had been delayed while the boss caught up on paperwork from being gone. Checks should have been posted to the board Friday.

As Charlotte focused on her client, I took the opportunity to get my station ready and unpack all the things from my rolling stylist case. It didn't require much, but I fiddled with it until everything I needed to cut, color, curl, or style hair was exactly where they were supposed to be. I spun the black chair in front of the big square mirror, and realized I had terrible hat hair. When I'd pulled my hat off earlier I hadn't realized that pieces of my red hair had come free from the braid and were now shooting in different directions like fireworks. I grabbed my comb and some gel and smoothed the pieces back into a presentable position. I preferred to wear my hair free, but there was a lot to be said about having it out of the way.

Hair fixed, I glanced hopefully out the glass windows at the front of the salon. Rain had started pouring down from the gray sky. The foot traffic wasn't heavy when I'd walked over earlier, and the dreary weather meant the likelihood of a walk-in was low.

I checked the computer and found my client wasn't supposed to be in for another fifteen minutes, so I worked on straightening the sitting area by the windows where clients waited for their turn or parents waited for their kids' haircuts to be done. It was a simple area with a water cooler, and two chairs and a loveseat by a low coffee table topped with magazines. The magazines ranged from politics to celebrity gossip rags. I noticed one of the magazines had a picture of Mr. Hockey on it, and I picked it up curiously. He had his arm around a pretty woman with curly auburn hair and a grin on his face like he didn't have a care in the world. The photo made it difficult to tell for sure, but if I had to guess I'd say it was her natural hair color. I found myself envious of the darker undertones in her hair compared to the brighter ruby tones in my own. My ex had often compared my hair to the color of a fire truck.

The magazine speculated on the new relationship and who the mystery woman was. I didn't envy the public speculation, but I felt a pang of envy at how secure she looked with his strong arm around her as she looked up into his eyes with a spark of joy in hers. She belonged there with him, and it had been a very long time since I felt I belonged with someone. My ex had certainly never made me feel that way. I couldn't remember the last time I'd looked at someone with a spark of anything. Well, that was a lie, I could remember who I'd looked at that way, before I dropped out and was drowning in student debt. Before when?—

"Lia, do I pay you to read magazines?"

I looked up to see the salon owner in the entryway. The boss lady always left an impression, and today was no exception. Dressed in shiny black heels, black jeans, a button-up silky white shirt, and a black blazer, Priscilla looked like she'd stepped off a runway somewhere as she pulled a red scarf from her sleek Victoria Beckham style bob. She tipped her black umbrella over her slim shoulder and water dripped to the floor as she pointedly looked at the magazine in my hand.

I dropped it to the table as if it had bit me. "No, Ma'am. I was just straightening the area up."

"Well, now that you're done ogling the hockey model, help me with my umbrella."

I took the thing from her and folded it up.

"You got water all over the floor. Be a dear and mop it up. It's a slipping hazard." She walked away from me towards her office. Pausing for a moment by the black door with a hand on the silver doorknob. "Oh, and I don't want to be disturbed today. So there better be a fire or a lot of money involved if you bother me."

She closed the door, unconcerned with if I needed help or not. Not that I would go to her, I'd learned on my first day that no one bothered the boss if they wanted to keep their opportunity at the salon.

"Yes, Ma'am," I muttered.

Hurrying to do what she asked, I got the string mop out of the back and wiped up the water her designer heels and umbrella had left behind on the black and white tiles. If mopping up after her meant that checks would be done faster I'd mop every time the door opened today.

Charlotte finished with her client, and walked her to the door, after the door closed she turned to me. "I just realized I forgot my lunch today. Do you mind being the only one on the floor while I go grab something to eat?"

"Go get food." I waved her towards the door. "I'll hold down the fort."

She smiled. "You're a peach. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to eat until I got home. Oh, and I was totally ogling Mr. Hockey earlier today, but I'm glad it wasn't me the boss caught."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, but you know he's probably got a model girlfriend or something."

Shaking her head she spouted out, "He doesn't, I read the interview. He's single."

"Then what's wrong with him?" I asked.

"One of these days, we're going to have a girls' night, and you're going to spill your guts on why you are so against dating."

"I'm not against it, I just don't want to waste time on dating frogs. Is it too much to want my own prince charming?"

Charlotte had been after me to spill the details of my break up too, but I knew as soon as she and Maria joined forces at book club there was no way I'd get out of sharing. Better to talk about Mr. Hockey than Ted.

She sighed dreamily. "Well, if Mr. Hockey were to waltz in here and ask you to dinner you'd better let him."

"Fine. If Mr. Hockey ever asks me out, I promise to say yes." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the idea of it. There was no way a guy like him would ever be interested in a girl like me. "Go get your lunch."

I shooed her towards the door and finished cleaning up the water on the tile.

I'd only stepped out of the break room from putting the mop away when the front door opened and a girl who looked to be about eleven, in a pair of white sneakers, jeans that looked like they were getting a little short, and an oversized lavender Taylor Swift hoodie eagerly bounced in.

She was followed by a woman who looked about my age and could put any New York Fashion Week model to shame. While my boss had a slick edge to her fashion, this woman looked elegant in her creamy cashmere sweater, tailored tan pants, and matching raincoat. She lifted a French tip manicured hand to the tortoiseshell shades and placed them on top of her straight bob cut with bangs. Her hair was the same color as her sweater and I had no doubt it was intentional on the woman's part. Intentional at drawing attention to the crisp eyeliner and plum lipstick or to the matching gold necklace and earrings that were large enough to catch attention, but not so large as to be gaudy.

Smiling in welcome, I introduced myself and asked what I could help them with.

The daughter eagerly grinned at me. "Mom says I can dye my hair."

"Shush Penelope." Her mother turned to me, no trace of the bubbliness she'd squashed in her daughter. "She's here for a cut. I called earlier."

That feeling in my gut twisted, "Sure. If you want to have a seat over here." I pointed to the seating area, "Penelope why don't you come have a seat in my chair and we can discuss what will make the both of you happy."

Her mother let out a sound of disgust, "There's no reason to talk it through. Give her a straight bob like mine."

Her daughter had long blond hair pulled into a ponytail that fell more than halfway down her back. "I don't want a bob, Mom."

"Fine, a pixie cut then."

"Mom, you said I could dye my hair."

The mom sighed and waved me away. "Give us a moment could you."

I nodded and backed away to my station. Situations like this were part of why so many stylists hated doing kid cuts. Often the kid wanted something a parent didn't approve of, and the stylist ended up caught in the middle. Instead of one client to please, there were two and it was a delicate balance to please both when they had opposing ideas.

In a harsh hushed tone, the mom spoke to Penelope and while I couldn't tell exactly what was being said over the elevator music playing over the speaker, I could see the girl's shoulders slump, and her chin lower until she stared at her sneakers. She nodded, defeated, and her mother waved me back over.

"A straight bob, chin length in front. No color."

"Are you sure?" I asked Penelope, "A bob is a pretty drastic change. We could do?—"

The mom cut me off. "If I wanted your opinion I'd ask."

"I completely understand that. How about I show Penelope a few pictures to help her find a style she likes."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, "Fine. But I have somewhere to be in an hour, and you better not make me late."

"Penelope, follow me so we can get started. I'd hate to ruin any of you and your mom's plans."

With a wave of her hand, she dismissed both me and her daughter while she looked at something on her phone.

"Okay..." I said to myself as I led Penelope to my station, her mom huffed and sat on the couch before picking up the magazine with Mr. Hockey on it.

I hated this, and as I wrapped the drape around Penelope, I hated myself too. I couldn't do a cut when I knew she didn't want it, but I also couldn't afford not to. I really hoped that I'd find a solution that would satisfy both of them.

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked her.

Her shoulders folded inwards, "I don't want to cause problems."

"Sweetie, my job is to give the client what they want, and it doesn't seem like you want this. It's only a problem if you don't say what you want."

"What if what I want makes my mom mad?"

"Let me show you some pictures, and you can tell me what you like," I offered. "We can go from there."

A small smile of hope graced Penelope's lips. "I'd like that."

I walked the few steps to where Charlotte had four different magazines on her station and picked them all up to take back to Penelope. The first magazine had a picture of a popular pop star on tour. She had long straight black hair and bangs that fell just above her eyes covered in a dark smokey eye.

"A lot of people have been asking for this style," I said pointing to the picture before flipping to a page near the middle of an older photo. "But she also had her hair short for her last tour. A classic shoulder-length cut with no bangs."

"It's okay I guess," Penelope said.

"Just okay? What's the first feeling you get looking at it?"

"Boring."

I set the magazine to the side and picked up the next one with an actress staring in an upcoming movie about the girl next door falling for the rock star. She had hair that reached her shoulder blades only with layers that added a fun bounce to it when flipped out. "How about something you can flip?"

Penelope shook her head without hesitation. "My mom would hate it. She hates that actress."

"Maybe a grown-out pixie?" I pointed to another picture of a celebrity at a red carpet charity event raising money for cancer research. The hair was short on the sides and back, but the longer hair on top was long enough to reach her chin. It was similar to a bob in length.

"Mom hates her too. Says she's untalented and overrated."

"Moving on." I set it aside and picked up the next one where the cast of a popular TV show was posing together on a couch. "Do any of these look good to you?"

She took the magazine from me and flipped through the pages. After a minute she pointed to a picture where a girl had her hair in beach waves that framed her face. "I like this one."

"Is it the length or how it's styled?"

"Both. But Mom won't like it."

"That leaves the last magazine." It was another copy of the magazine with Mr. Hockey on it. As good as the short style looked on him, I didn't think Penelope wanted it. "If you could do anything with your hair what would you do?"

"I'd like red hair like yours," Penelope said.

I smiled at her. "Well red hair can be fun, but I like yours. A lot of women try hard to get their hair your color."

"Really?"

"Yep. Blond can be pretty tricky, if it's not done right it fries the hair and then they have to shave it all off."

She let out a little giggle, and then her smile dropped. "Mom would hate it."

"What would I hate?"

Penelope and I both jumped at her mom's voice. She'd moved from the spot near the seating area and now stood at Charlotte's station, looking at the flat iron that had been left out to cool.