Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“Did you go to that new restaurant that just opened? What’s the name?”

“Smoky Mountain Bistro, if I’m not mistaken. Real fancy food, but damn, it is good!”

“Burna Jones said she didn’t like the way the place looked.”

“Hmph. Burna Jones doesn’t like anything.”

I listened to the shop gossip as I painted another section of hair on my client’s head and then carefully wrapped the foil. There was something therapeutic about doing this routine basic highlight job. I found it soothing to watch the repetitive motion of spreading the thick lightening paste over the strands and listen to the crinkle of the foil as I folded it into an even, compact rectangle.

The bell tinkled, and of course, the newcomer was greeted by a wave of curious eyes. Normally, what I saw and heard were waves and shouts of “Hey, girl,” but the woman in the door was dismissed coldly.

So, not a new person, but someone everyone knew and shunned.

Except Tambre.

“Good afternoon, Donna. How are you?”

Donna tilted her head back and ignored the snubs. “Hey, Tambre. I got a little problem.” She reached up and tugged at her dry strands. “I did my roots at home to save some money, an’ it didn’t go so good.”

“Hmph. Ain’t enough bleach in the county to clean some stains,” the woman in my chair muttered under her breath. Her remark was brief, but the ugly tone made me take a longer look at the woman standing at the front of the salon.

She could have been anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five. Her clothes consisted of short-shorts and a ripped T-shirt over a spaghetti-strap cami, but her breasts hung low and loose. She was pretty, but underneath the heavy makeup, there were deep lines and shadows of hard living. The straw-like consistency of her greenish-blonde hair made me wince.

“This is bad, Donna. We can try a deep keratin treatment and see what happens.” Tambre’s voice held a note of compassion for the woman. It made me love my boss even more.

“How much?” Donna asked warily.

“I’ll work something out with you. Go sit in my chair, and I’ll get you set up.”

I finished with my client and set the timer. Kimmie worked on a set of nails for a new client and gabbed about some new bar she’d found and how much fun she had going there.

I took a few minutes to text Lori about my daughter. Most of the time, Pearl was a happy, content baby, but this morning, she was a bit fussy. I put it down to cutting molars and made a mental note to pick up some baby Tylenol on the way to get her later.

I stretched my back and several bones popped. Standing on my feet for hours on end really did a number on my legs and back. I’d given up on anything stylish and cute and instead wore Skechers with arch supports nowadays.

The bell over the door rang out, and the eye-wave greeting started again. This time there were squeals of pleasure.

“Hey, Weatherman!”

“When did you get in?”

“How’s your mama?”

I bit my lip. The salon patrons treated the woman sitting in Tambre’s chair, currently getting her hair slathered in a thick creamy mask, like a pariah, while they fawned over the man. It bothered me.

“Mom’s doing okay now. She’s got her first chemo treatment tomorrow morning, though. I expect she’ll be feeling rough for a few days.”

His voice was deep and resonant, with a pleasant sound. I imagined he could charm the pants off any of the women who were currently drooling on their capes. Not me. I was immune to men at this point in my life. I had my daughter and my growing reputation as a colorist and stylist. That was enough. Frankly, I didn’t want anything to come along and mess it up.

“Hey, Tambre, any way you can work me in for a quick trim?”

Did you not see the full waiting area? I turned away and picked up the broom, intent on ignoring him and keeping my hands busy.

“I’m working on Donna right now, and Marilee is waiting for me,” she replied.

No, I said in my head. Please not me.

“Looks like all the chairs are full, but if Courtney doesn’t mind moving to the shampoo station while her color times out, I bet Opal can get you sorted.”

I closed my eyes in resignation. I didn’t want to cut his hair, whoever he was, but when my boss asked me to do something, it was a good idea to comply. I put a smile on my face and leaned the broom back against the wall. “You bet.”

I had to lock my knees when I finally took in his appearance. Taller than me by at least a head, nice masculine build but not bulky, clean hair and face with high, sculpted cheekbones and full lips. He could be a model in a magazine ad.

Though it was his eyes that nearly sent me to the floor.

Greenish-gold hazel gazed back at me. Eyes nearly the same shade as someone else I knew. Used to know. Someone I kept in my private memories, just for me.

“Good afternoon, Opal. I’m Weatherman.” He reached out a square-shaped hand for me to shake.

I just stared at it. White noise filled my head, and my belly twisted as if a snake were coiling up to strike. I’d cut and styled plenty of women. The last man whose hair I cut…

“Opal?”

“It’s okay, baby. You got this.”

The guiding voice helped get my focus back. Yes, I could do this.

I forced something resembling a smile and made myself take his hand for a brief shake. “Yeah, hi. Have a seat, and I’ll go get a fresh cape.”

When I came back out from the storeroom, I spotted two of the ladies in the waiting area giggling, blushing, and sneaking pics with their phones of the man in my chair. Was he some sort of celebrity? Not my problem or my business. I’ll just give him a cut and let everything else go.

“Your hair isn’t too bad. Why don’t you go to Morris’s Barbershop like all the other men in town do?” I asked.

He grinned, showing off perfect white teeth. Either he had fantastic genes or a great orthodontist. “Last time I went there, he did a number on me. Looked terrible on the air, and I had to wait until it grew out enough to fix it. Nope, I’d rather get it done right.”

“On the air?”

“I’m the evening meteorologist for the WXVI news station in Knoxville. Well, for the next four weeks, at least.”

So he was a sort of local celebrity. “Oh,” I replied. Kinda lame, but popular or not, he was still a stranger to me. That laser smile of his pierced me, and not in a good way. “You sure you trust me? We just met.”

“I trust Tambre. She wouldn’t hire someone she didn’t believe could do the job.”

He was sitting in my chair already, the cape in my hands.

Just cut his hair, I repeated to myself. Simple sweep and taper. Easy peasy.

I sprayed him down and combed through his locks. Most of the time, I tried to chat with my clients, but I just wanted to get him done and out of my life. The sandy-colored strands threaded through my fingers as I point-snipped away, lifting the layers and checking the fall. The other man I’d trimmed liked his hair military short.

“Can’t take the Army out of me, baby.”

I still heard his voice from time to time. Still pictured his smile with that overlapping front tooth. Still remembered when he took me in his arms the first time. Grief hit me out of nowhere, and my scissors dropped to the floor.

Tambre called out, “Opal, are you okay?”

I shook myself off and fought back the wave of tears that threatened to flow. “Yeah, you bet.”

I picked up the shears and cleaned them before resuming my work. Thankfully, Weatherman stayed silent. If he talked to me or asked me questions, there was no way I could get through this job or even answer him.

A few minutes later, I was done. I’d made it through without losing control completely, although I would probably shed some tears later.

I brushed off the cape and took it from around his neck. He stood up and straightened his clothes, and I finally noticed the cut on his back. A biker. Another member of the Dragon Runners MC.

Uff-da, will I ever get away from motorcycle men?

He followed me to the register.

“That will be twenty-five dollars.” I recognized that my tone was much sharper than it needed to be, but at the moment, I couldn’t help it.

He handed me two twenties. “Keep the change. I apologize if I made you nervous.”

“You don’t make me anything,” I said rather acidly. The generous tip threw me off. Experience had taught me that men who were generous usually had expectations.

His chuckle had the sound of irritation rather than mirth. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t like doing men’s hair.”

“So, it’s not me.”

His statement brought me up short, and I didn’t know what to say. My actions were already rude, and anything else I had to say would make me the bitch of the year. He hadn’t done or said anything bad, so technically I had no reason to be this angry with him. The behavior of the salon patrons wasn’t really his fault, yet I wanted to hate this man. Hate him with a passion because he reminded me of someone else.

Before I could come up with a reasonable response, the timer on Courtney’s hair dinged. “Thank you for the tip. I gotta get back to work. Have a nice day.”

I turned and left him at the counter. A few seconds later, the bell sounded over the door, and I assumed he was gone.

Kimmie hissed at me from her station. “What the fuck is wrong with you? He was hot as hell!”

Yes, he was hot. My hormones agreed, but that attraction made me hate him more. It didn’t make sense, but that’s where I was. The snake in my belly coiled up, and I had to keep moving before it talked to me.

“Whatever,” I flipped back. I had a client in my chair who was paying me a lot of money for her hair, and that’s where I focused my attention. Courtney had resumed her spot, and I reached for the foils, ignoring everyone else.

New town, new people, new life .

I repeated the words over and over again.

New town, new people, new life .

New town, new people, new life .

So what if I had the perfect hue of his hazel eyes on my mind?