Chapter 5 Poppy
POPPY
Turns out, my chicken soup does not have healing powers.
Jax was down for the count and missed the first three days of school.
Thankfully, the salon is closed Sundays and Mondays.
Clara recovered enough to go back to work and cover for me while I stayed home, but that meant more juggling in my schedule.
By Thursday, when Jax is finally back in school and I can get back to the salon, it feels like Saturday all over again.
Canceled and rescheduled clients, a packed day, nonstop calls. By ten in the morning, I wish I had five sets of hands.
I’m at my station consulting with a regular client about a cut when I hear the rumble of a motorcycle.
I can’t believe my stomach does this fluttering thing at the sound.
That man has ruined me. Every motorcycle I have heard for the past four days has my body responding like I’m one of Pavlov’s dogs.
I try my best to ignore the growl of the engine outside and focus on my job.
“So, do you think I can pull off a pixie?” My client—who has never taken chances with her hair before—is pulling up pictures on her phone to show me when the salon door chimes.
I flick a glance toward the door, and then those butterflies in my belly take flight like a flock of seagulls competing for a snack.
It is him.
Phantom is here.
But this time, he looks a lot different.
Scarier and, somehow, even sexier.
He walks up to the front counter, his motorcycle boots thudding heavily against the floor. He’s got dark glasses over his eyes, which he pulls up onto his head, and instead of the long-sleeved shirt, he’s wearing a leather vest and a tight gray T-shirt that reveals arms covered in tattoos.
“Poppy?” My client swipes to close the app with haircut photos on her phone.
Without realizing what I’m doing, I look past my client to check my hair and makeup in the mirror.
“Yes, yeah, let’s do the pixie,” I say in a rush, trying to channel my excitement into something that matters.
When I look up and see the confusion on my client’s face, I immediately feel like a fool.
“Is everything okay?” she says in a low voice, like I’m about to let her in on a secret. Her eyes lock on Phantom. “That looks like trouble.”
“Trouble?” I’m confused. “Why do you say that?”
One look across the salon has me realizing that the client in my chair isn’t the only one who’s noticed Phantom’s presence. A number of my customers and even my stylists are looking him over, a nervous tension simmering under the quiet coffeehouse playlist we’ve got on.
“He looks like he’s with that biker club, the criminal one,” my client says quietly. “They have a bad reputation, Poppy. They’re supposed to be into some shady shit. Is the shop in some kind of trouble?”
I can’t even process what she’s saying.
The man who swooped in and saved his children, who paid their bill, no questions asked, is a criminal?
I mean, he rolled off a wad of hundreds, but lots of people still pay in cash.
My client Grace doesn’t even have a debit card and pays in twenty-dollar bills every week when she comes in for her wash and set.
“No,” I say, trying to reassure myself as much as my client. “There’s no trouble here. God, no. I do his daughters’ hair.”
“Oh.” My client relaxes slightly and reopens her app.
“Let me just go see if he needs something. I’ll be right back.” I wave to Cynthia to get the client shampooed, then I head over to the front counter.
The way I’m drawn to Phantom’s dark beard, full jaw, and piercing eyes has me feeling things, really feeling things that I haven’t felt since Michael and I were young, and I’m not sure I like it.
I approach the counter and tap him lightly on the arm. His bare skin is hot, light hairs tickling my skin, and I immediately pull away. “Hey, can I help you with something?”
I don’t know what I expect of a man who looks like he does, but the smile he gives me is so big and genuine, his eyes seem to turn from midnight blue to navy.
“Hey there, gorgeous. Good to see you again,” he says, scanning the shop full of women, many of whom are looking right back at him. “Looks busy as hell in here. Any chance I can get five minutes in your office or something?”
My stomach sinks. I can’t imagine what he’s here for and could possibly need to talk to me about privately. Maybe he wants his money back… I think back over what my client said. If he’s really with some kind of criminal club, maybe he’s…
I’m spiraling. I don’t know what he’s here for, and there is no need to expect trouble just because he’s a biker.
“Five minutes,” he says. “I promise.”
His smile melts me inside, and I immediately stop doomscrolling possibilities in my brain. I did nothing wrong. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
In fact, if anything, he stopped something bad from happening here. Whether he is connected to criminals or is one himself, I’m going to give the guy five minutes of my time and then show him the door.
“I have a client getting shampooed.” I nod. “I have a few minutes. I don’t have an office, but we have an employee lounge. Follow me.”
I head toward the back and feel the searing gaze of my sister as we walk past her station. Phantom follows me too closely for me to say anything he won’t overhear, so I don’t say anything. I just focus on not tripping over my heels and getting past the heavy stares of my customers and staff.
“Mary,” I say, noticing one of the shampoo girls putting away product in the storage closet at the back of the lounge. “Can we have a minute, please?”
She turns and sees Phantom, and her eyes go wide. “Yeah, of course,” she says, hastily replacing boxes of color, then scurries out onto the floor.
I motion for Phantom to take a seat on a leather love seat covered in plush faux-velvet pillows, then I drop down into an armchair, my knees feeling wobbly.
Phantom turns to look at the love seat like he’s afraid he’s going to break it, but then he carefully lowers himself onto it.
“I’m sorry for dropping in like this,” he says, his voice going tight. “Won’t be a regular thing. I have a favor to ask, and it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to say over text.”
A favor? This man wants a favor from me?
All sorts of scenarios flood my brain, but I rush to the most obvious one: he wants his money back.
I can’t imagine what else he could want.
But after all the extra expenses the last couple days, I really can’t afford to give away my time and services.
I don’t have enough time as it is. Was his paying the bill just an act to look like the hero in front of his kids?
My anxiety and anger must show on my face because he suddenly looks incredibly serious.
“Look,” he says, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t for my kids. I know you said you’re a single mom, so I thought I’d shoot my shot.”
I swallow hard and brace for it. “What do you want?”
He draws in a breath. “What happened here the other day, with Shayla trying to run out. It’s not the first time she’s pulled something like this, and without getting into the weeds, there’s been other shit.
” He rubs his brow, and I notice the detailed and intricate tattoos on his right arm.
Some of it looks rough and faded, but his left arm is full of colorful, newer tattoos and a crazy amount of muscles.
“What can I do?” I ask, doing my best to focus on his eyes, not his beautiful arms.
“I was hoping you’d write up a statement about what happened so I can give it to the court.
I don’t want to put you in the middle of anything, but I’m filing for full custody of my kids.
My daughters are happy about it—thank God they want to stay with me—but Shayla, not so much.
Having something from you about what happened here could help the judge make a decision.
” He shrugs. “But if it’s something you’re not down for, I understand.
No harm done if you’d rather not get involved. ”
My heart rate slows a bit as I process what he’s asking me for. It’s not money. He actually wants my help?
“Is that all I’d have to do?” I ask. “Just write a letter?”
Just then, the door to the lounge swings open, and my sister sashays toward the sink. “Oh, hey. Am I interrupting? Don’t mind me. I’ll just be a minute.” She stares at Phantom so hard, I’m afraid she’s going to lose her eyelash extensions.
I draw in an annoyed breath and wave toward Clara. “This is my sister,” I explain. “She’s just about—”
“I’m Clara.” She’s suddenly right up in his face, her hand extended. “And you are?”
He looks from me to her, the severity of our conversation gone from his face. “Phantom,” he says, standing to shake her hand.
Oh God. That was the absolute worst thing he could have said.
“Phantom?” Clara lifts a brow then fans herself with the hand he shook. “Sexy and mysterious?” She turns to me. “Whatever this is, I love it for you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Clara.” I shake my head. “This is the man who covered his daughters’ bill the other day.”
Recognition lights up her face, and she turns her attention back to Phantom. “My sister didn’t tell me you were gorgeous and that you were coming back.”
“Clara.” My voice does nothing but bring a smile to Phantom’s face and fuel my sister up even more. We should have left the salon to talk. I should have known my sister would butt all the way into something absolutely not her business.
“What?” She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me. “Is he not single?” She turns back to Phantom. “No disrespect, but come on, look at him.” She motions toward him. “Although, don’t take this the wrong way, but who does your hair? You—”
My meddling flirt of a little sister literally takes a step toward him, her fingers wiggling like she’s about to run them through his hair, when I stop her.
“Clara. He’s here because he needs me to write a statement about what happened.
Can you not touch the man’s hair and just give us a minute, please? ”