Chapter 1

1

Chloe

I pinch hair between two fingers and drag them down slowly until only a few centimetres of hair is left below them. Bringing the scissors close, I snip blonde strands and watch them float to the tiles on my bathroom floor.

Everything's fine. No reason to panic.

I blow out a breath directed upwards, attempting to move the hair blocking my eyes. The clips I haphazardly shoved into my hair droop and block my eyesight, ruining the sections of my layers. I comb through the shortened lengths of my hair, now sitting above my chest when earlier today it was closer to my bra strap.

Now all I need is a fringe.

Yes. A fringe will help the stress, but maybe a curtain fringe instead of a straight chunky one.

All my clients want them, so I may as well try it and report back on the simplest way to style the fringe. Releasing the sagging clips, I comb and section my hair, pull strands forward angled diagonally, and cut. Repeating on the other side, I shake it out.

My fingers run through the freshly cut hair, and I tilt my head. Not bad. Definitely not bad for a spontaneous haircut. I glance at my phone and cringe. A spontaneous two-in-the-morning haircut.

Maybe everything isn't fine.

The last time I cut my hair this early in the morning was when I signed the papers to rent salon space. Clearly, renovating it is just as stressful, if not more so, considering my new look. After scooping hair off the floor, I put it in the bin and turn to analyse myself in the mirror. It's not a bad cut. I learned to cut hair on myself before I trained as an apprentice, so I'm used to working on myself, but why am I doing this and not sleeping? My eyes roll to the back of my head and I shove my hair into a bun, heedless of the fact it's wet and will dry funny. I'll fix it tomorrow in a great blowout to meet the plumber.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, tingling and churning, not helping the nerves running through me. Lachlan—the plumber who's going to fix my salon—also happens to be the person I secretly long for. I didn't know he was a plumber until recently, and tomorrow he'll be in my salon, in my space helping me. Jitters prevented me from sleeping. A haircut seemed like just the thing to settle me.

I tuck the new pieces of hair by my face behind my ears and huff when they fall into my eyes. Right. There's a reason I don't have a fringe. I hate the feeling of hair on my face. So much for good ideas at two A.M. Or was it that nothing's a good idea after two A.M?

Flicking off the bathroom lights, I stumble to the rumpled bed and cringe as the wet fringe clings to my forehead.

My eyes squeeze shut. I'll fix it tomorrow.

The fringe is sticking out every which way, and I groan when I see the dents in the lengths of my hair from the hair tie. That's what I get for sleeping with wet hair.

" Why ? Why did I cut it?" The cut isn't bad, in fact it looks pretty good, but I couldn't have blow-dried it before going back to bed?

I plug in the hair straightener and curl through it all, smoothing out the bumps and creating bouncy waves with a fun swoop in the front with the fringe. I squint at the result. It'll do.

My fingers run through the curls to break them up and I finish with some texture spray. If my hair isn't done, I feel naked. I refuse to leave the house without styling it. Forget makeup, hair makes or breaks a person.

Once I chuck my keys in my handbag, I lock the door behind me, my flowy skirt narrowly missing being jammed in the door.

The weather's too hot and sticky to wear anything except loose clothing. I shudder at the thought of putting on jeans.

It's a short walk to the salon. I live as close as I can afford and walk there when possible to save money. It had been a dream to open my own place and finally leave the toxic salon I'd worked at since I completed my apprenticeship. Running my own salon had a steep learning curve, but I figured it out.

Starlight Salon is on The Esplanade—the road leads to the popular tourist beach which, thankfully, results in a lot of business. It was a difficult decision to close for a few weeks and renovate, but the building's old and needed a revamp to fit the business. I grin when I see the new sign in cursive above the door.

Entering the salon, I set my bag on the reception desk and turn in a slow circle to see all the changes.

It's nearly done.

The walls are a soft shade of green with arched mirrors along the walls in front of each station. A bohemian style with small pops of bright colour, exactly how I wanted it. My chest warms and I bite my lip. I did it. Now all I need is the hot water fixed and to add small finishing touches.

A glance at my phone shows Lachlan should arrive in an hour, which gives me time to organise the staff room and the stock sitting in boxes. A shaky breath leaves me. He's going to be in my space. I'll be able to see his brown wavy hair hunched over the basins.

And maybe check out his ass while he's here.

I twist my hair into a claw clip to stop it from sticking to my neck—the new air-con unit has already proved its worth—and begin unpacking, pushing him from my mind.

The clock ticks to the hour and I frown at the door. He was supposed to be here two hours ago.

I've gotten used to tradies being late when they're busy on other sites, but usually they call to warn me. This guy has left me for two hours with nothing. He hasn't even replied to my texts.

I grit my teeth, go back to the staff room and snatch a box of hair dye from the crate to shove on the shelf.

The excitement I had sours to betrayal. Which is ridiculous. How can I feel betrayed by someone I don't know? But this was finally a chance to talk to him.

The door opens in the front and my heart pounds. I duck out of the room to see him before he disappears.

My shoulders slump. "Oh, it's you."

Isla laughs and hands me a coffee cup clinking with ice. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I mean, yay, Isla. I'm so glad you're here," I exclaim and put her bag on a workstation to sip the coffee. Sweet bliss. "Thanks for the pick-me-up. How are the clients today?"

"All tourists and no locals."

"I'll come for a new set soon," I promise her.

Isla sits and takes my hand, analysing the pink swirl design she decorated them with a few weeks ago. "They're holding up good," she releases my hand. "We still on for Saturday?"

"That depends on if the water's fixed."

"Wasn't it being fixed today?"

"The plumber hasn't shown up and hasn't returned my calls."

Isla frowns. "What plumber was it?"

"Some guy Dom recommended. Lachlan someone." Isla doesn't need to know Lachlan is the guy I've been pining over. He always sits opposite us at the bar on Saturdays when we decompress. I didn't know his name, or his profession, when Dom recommended the plumber. It was the photo on Lachlan's website where I found out.

Isla blushes and sips her drink. "If Dom recommended him, he should be reliable."

I slump into the chair beside Isla, disappointed that the guy I desperately want to touch is unreliable. "You'd think. I run a hair salon. I need hot water for that."

"It would be helpful."

"I don't know what to do."

"Can you call someone else?" Isla asks.

"I tried, but the only other guy I'm willing to work with is booked. I want someone reputable. And Lachlan's supposed to be." I sigh and run my fingers through my fringe. "I don't want to hunt down someone else who can't fit me in for over a week. I'm supposed to open before then."

"Why don't you ask Dom if he knows where the guy is? Aren't they friends?"

I glance at the line of basins that still don't have hot water and my chest tightens. Dom's only across the street. If it means I'll get answers, maybe I should talk to him. "You're right. Dom recommended him so he can help me with it." I grab Isla's bag and hand it to her, stride to the door and switch off the lights as I go, but leave the mirror lights glowing.

"Are you forcing me to leave? What if I wanted to spend time with you?" Isla pouts teasingly.

"Come to Next Door with me and see Dom."

Isla ducks outside and heads to her store, saying over her shoulder, "Never mind. I didn't want to hang out, anyway. Got lots of business things to do."

I laugh at her exaggerated response. One day, I'll force them together to face their feelings. Glancing across the street, I cross the road to the bar.

It's closed since it's barely lunch, but dim light comes from the windows. My hands cup the glass and I look inside. There's movement near the bar, so I knock on the door.

The shadow moves closer to the back.

"I can see you, Dom," I yell through the glass. "Let me in."

He drags his feet to the door, and I watch him sigh.

Dom opens the door, but only enough to stick his head out. "What?"

"You gonna let me in?"

"No."

"You talk to your paying customers like that, Dom?" I smirk at him. Why he opened a business based in customer service, I'll never know. But he truly is a teddy-bear under all the gruffness when you get to know him. If he lets you.

He sighs again, but opens the door and gestures me in. "What's up, Chloe?"

"What's up? The plumber you recommended didn't show, so I still don't have water," I say through clenched teeth. My chest tightens. I need hot water, damn it.

"Lach didn't show up?" Dom furrows his brow and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"No, he didn't. Thanks for the recommendation. You know what's important to a hair salon? Water! I open in a few days."

"We'll figure it out. I'll give him a call."

My voice tightens, "I tried that."

"He wouldn't have recognised your number."

"That shouldn't have stopped him from answering." If he wants clients, answering the phone would be a good start.

Dom taps something on his phone and holds it to his ear. "I know." His painted nails gleam in the light, decorated in an ocean design that looks like Isla's work and is bright against his dark clothes. The phone rings and rings before switching to voicemail. Lachlan's deep voice sounds distorted through the speakers.

"Huh."

"He didn't pick up. Oh god, how am I supposed to open a salon without water?" The energy seeps out of me, and I lean against a table. "Maybe I'll YouTube it? How hard can it be, some pipes and stuff?"

Dom glares at his phone. "He's not picking up. It's not like him."

"Dom, I did something to the till," a panicked voice comes from the back.

I glance up at his growl and raise my eyebrow.

"Hired a new kid. Look, I've gotta go deal with this." He flings a hand to the tills. "Can you check on Lach for me?"

"What?" I yelp. Is he serious?

"He always answers his phone. Always. I can't get away until closing. Can you check on him? Please?"

My phone vibrates, and a text comes through with an address and the same number I've been texting this morning. "I can't check on him."

"You don't have to, but I'd appreciate it if you make sure he's okay," Dom says. The kid yells again and Dom strides to the tills. "I'll see you later."

"Wait. You can't expect me to do this. I don't even know him." I gaze at his back while he disappears and shake my head. What just happened? He can't honestly expect me to do this, can he? I've never spoken to Lachlan in person, only on the phone, and heard his voice in the bar ordering beer. As much as I want to see him, I shouldn't need to track down my plumber.

I growl in frustration and slam the door behind me, stepping into the muggy air. Sweat prickles on my skin. I hadn't realised how cool it was in the bar.

There's no point going back to the salon. I've already put most of the stock away. Now all I need is water. I head for my flat, phone burning a hole through my bag. Halfway home, I fish it out and tap on the text thread. My eyes widen in surprise. He doesn't live too far away from me. An extra ten minutes to walk, but am I ready for confrontation? I hate confrontation, but I need water, and Dom did seem concerned. The concern breaking through his gruff exterior.

What if something's wrong? I guess I could check on him? Just to make sure he's alive. It would mean if he dies I wouldn't feel guilty since I checked on him. Unless they think I killed him because I was the last person to see him? I stop at the turn I need to walk down to reach my flat and glance ahead to where Lachlan apparently lives.

I pull my top away from my sticky skin.

Ugh.

I huff and walk straight. Towards Lachlan. He better have a good explanation.