Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

“Ingles has a big sale on turkeys this week. Getting ready for Thanksgivin’, I reckon.”

“I found this coupon app. All you do is scan it, and it comes off the bill.”

“I can’t stand them places that only got self-checkout. I’d rather have a person than a machine.”

The salon chatter surrounded me with everyday fluff. Groceries, whose kid was dating who, school events, church bazaars, and other news.

The more I worked here, the less isolated I felt. I learned many of the local women’s names and found out much about their lives. Tammy Belle’s youngest child was battling leukemia. Charlotte Dane’s husband was retiring next year. Marilyn Walker’s son won a football scholarship to UNC-Chapel Hill and would head there next year. Every day I learned the news of their lives—both good and bad. It didn’t matter if they had big houses or rented small apartments. It didn’t matter if they drove sporty convertibles or minivans. It didn’t matter if they dressed in designer fashion or from the Goodwill store. Their concerns were the same.

“Heard about Katie Grace? Someone told me she got drugged over at that new restaurant a while back.”

“Yeah, I heard about it. Supposed to be some serial wannabe rapist or some such shit.”

That got my attention. I hadn’t met Katie Grace, but then again, I didn’t get out much. My life consisted of work and home. The necessary outings to the laundromat and grocery store were the highlight of my week. Walmart wasn’t my favorite place to go, but it was one-stop shopping that got me food, cabinet hardware, baby clothes, and a new coffee maker to replace the one that died. I only had to pull out the stroller once instead of four or five times at different stores.

This new dramatic discussion had the whole salon wagging their tongues with relish in one big group.

“Blanche told me it was a sex trafficking ring. They’s out for new blood to send overseas to their brothels and to sell to European royalty.”

“You really think some Spanish or French prince is gonna want a hometown girl from the mountains of North Carolina? Puh-leeze.”

“It could happen.”

“Only in the movies or a romance book.”

“I read an article…”

I let the gossip fade to white noise around me. The topic wasn’t one I wanted to hear anything about. I hoped this Katie Grace person was okay. Thankfully, Courtney was in my chair getting a touch-up and cut. She dropped the subject, but then she started in on a new one that wasn’t very comfortable either.

Courtney grinned at me from her reflection in the mirror. “Rumor has it that you paid a visit to Pastor Bobby’s church and sat in the front row. And this is after spending a whole day with him at the Halloween barbecue. Does that mean you’re datin’ him now?”

“I’m… I’m…” How do I answer her? I paused to think about my first real experience with religion.

Yes, I did end up going to his church, as I couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. I didn’t know what to expect from a church service, but what I got was far different from anything I’d imagined. I’d seen movies where preachers yelled out dire warnings about sins and the pits of hell. A “repent or burn” sort of thing that always scared me. The sermon Robert calmly spoke was about kindness, forgiveness, and acceptance. His gentle demeanor fit the image of him behind the pulpit, and several times, he smiled at me as if sharing a special moment. Burna Jones had been in the three-member choir singing loud and “amening” every time she got a chance. I spotted Hilda next to her as she stayed in her grandmother’s shadow.

After the service, while Robert was shaking hands and chatting with his congregation, she approached me shyly. “Can I ask you something?”

Burna was regaling someone with tales of woe from a recent trip to the grocery store, so I turned to the timid girl. “What’s wrong?”

Hilda had looked around nervously before she whispered, “I’ve been asked to the Winter Snowball Dance at school. Andy Melford. He’s on the football team. I still can’t believe he knows who I am. I…”

She bit her lip and stopped speaking for a moment, dropping her gaze to the floor.

I placed a hand on her shoulder to give her a little encouragement. “What is it?”

“Can I make an appointment for you to do my hair and maybe give me some makeup pointers? You always look so pretty, and I’m not, so I thought you could… you know…”

She’d asked for my help, so how could I turn her down? Hair and makeup? This was something I could do—and wanted to.

Hilda kept her voice low. “My grandma doesn’t know Andy asked me. If she did, she won’t let me go. I told her I wanted to go with Kania and Joy so she’d be okay with it.” She inhaled quickly, and her voice grew earnest. “I can pay from my babysitting money. I just… I just…” The air leaked out of her in a long sigh. “I just want to look pretty for him.”

I remembered giving her a slight squeeze on her shoulder to get her eyes back up to mine. “Hey, Hilda. You don’t need to get pretty for anyone. You do that for yourself, not some boy. The hair and makeup? I can take that and make it into something special. I’m glad to help you do up right for your dance, but you need to make sure it’s okay with your grandma. Salon policy about working on minors. Give me a call next week and we’ll set it up, okay?”

Burna had cornered Robert and started in about something. He glanced up and grinned at me with boyish charm as if asking “What else can I do?” In some ways, he was like Brick of the Dragon Runners in that he had responsibilities to care for his people. He listened, advised, and helped them solve problems, all while keeping them together in one big family unit.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a scary place after all. The Lair wasn’t as bad as I’d made it out to be either.

I’d begged off going out for lunch after the service and did a drive-through on my way to do our laundry. Pearl loved scarfing down McDonald’s fries almost as much as she loved her toy gay-toh.

And I had a lot to think about.

I should have expected the glances and inquiries at the salon. Eventually, all news made its way here.

Courtney was still expecting an answer, and I only had one to give. “We’re just friends.”

Yeah, it sounded lame even to my ears, but it was all I had.

She giggled with sparkling eyes. “He’s quite a catch. Handsome, secure, and soooo nice. You could do a lot worse.”

It was true. Pastor Robert was a catch. He ticked all the boxes for being a good man, and a good companion. He treated me well and was good with Pearl. He’d kissed me, and even though there weren’t a lot of sparks, I did like him. Would feelings develop over time? Slow-burn love? Was that enough, and did I want to go there?

Weatherman’s face cropped up in my confused thoughts. We had a rocky start, mostly due to me not wanting to be around a biker club. Over the past few months, I’d learned more about him, how he gave up his career to take care of his mother, how he treated his friends, the support he had for the people in the club.

My biggest bother was that both men had kissed me.

One was sweet and tender.

One was reverent.

One warmed me.

One awakened me.

If both men walked into the salon at the same time and wanted to see me, which one would I choose?

Weatherman’s hazel eyes floated in my mind as I finished Courtney’s hairstyle and rang her out at the register. I had no other appointments for the day and was about to see if there were any walk-ins I could take. Then, as fate would have it, the bell jangled over the door, and the object of my thoughts came in.

“You got time for a trim?” Weatherman growled with a frown.

The salon women tittered, and I could only imagine the wild stories their fertile minds developed.

Not really . “You bet. Just give me a minute.”

I ran to the break room and grabbed a full-sugar soda from the fridge, downing it until my throat burned.

I cut hair. It’s my job. Women, men, and children. Weatherman is no different. Just a client. That’s it, so stop with the weird guilty shit about hanging out with another man for a day.

Why the hell did I need to stop and give myself a scolding pep talk before touching Weatherman’s hair?

I walked back to my station where he stood. His face was stony and his jaw tight. Yeah, he did need a trim, and he came to me to do it.

“You dating Pastor Bobby for real?” he asked as I approached.

I swear there was an audible shift as all the ears in the place pointed in my direction and strained to hear my answer. Why did I suddenly feel like I was treading on thin ice? “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. We hung out, and I visited his church, but that’s it. We’re just friends.”

“Good.” He turned and sat in my chair as I flipped the drape over him. “I want to take you for a ride on the Tail sometime.”

I almost dropped my scissors. A ride on the Tail meant a ride on the back of his bike. A ride on the back of his bike meant….

I sprayed his hair with my mister and picked up my comb and scissors. “Okay.”

Shit! Why did I answer like that?

I dropped the subject, and so did he. His back was straight, and he sat still and silent as I worked. So many little pieces I noticed as I combed and threaded the waves through my fingers. How his hair lay, its texture, the variety of strand colors. The shape of his ears. One had an emerald stud in the lobe. Thick eyelashes. He had a few flaws as well, if you could call them that. A mole just under his hairline at the back of his neck. A small thin scar just under his left eye. He smelled good. Not like the perfume of commercial products but a clean scent. I wondered if he used the soaps that Psalm made.

Pheromones. Hormones. Something was making my head flutter in hyperawareness of the man in my chair. Simple haircuts were not an intimate act, but this one felt like it. I shouldn’t have drunk an entire sugar-filled soda. It was making me sweat.

At the register, he paid me as usual with a generous tip. “When is your next day off?”

“Technically, it’s this Sunday.”

He frowned. “You going to Bobby’s church again?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I’ll have Pearl with me. I can’t ride with a baby.”

“No, but we’ll do something together. Think about it.”

His stare grew intense, and my belly flip-flopped. He stood so close to me that I felt the heat from his body. The world faded a bit until the only person I saw was him.

Only him.

The bell jangled harshly, throwing us both into chaos. We jumped apart as if burned, and my head buzzed with adrenaline and relief.

Or was it regret?

“I done told you not to put that shit on your head! When God was handin’ out sense, you missed the line.” A large woman walked in with three girls in tow. “Is there anyone here who can fix this mess? My daughter and her friends decided to make TikToks last night about dyeing their hair, and this is the result.”

Three heads of dry, overprocessed, streaked, patchy hair in various shades of blue, purple, and pink presented themselves.

My mouth dropped open. This was going to be a rough call. “Oh wow. That’s… wow.”

Weatherman backed away and cleared his throat. “I gotta run, and you need to get back to work. I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?”

Catch up with me later? Damn, I need to stop repeating his words! “Sure, you bet.”

He nodded once and left. I turned back to the trio of teary teenagers. “Let’s start with a good clarifying shampoo and deep treatment to see what we have to work with. Who’s first?”