Chapter 11
eleven
In the reflection of the mirror, I make eye contact with my client, Michelle. My fingers run through her new cut and color, lightly giving her hair movement so she can see the added layers. We threw in a few lowlights too, since she was becoming “too blonde” as she put it.
I was tempted to tell her about the guy I recently met who would likely disagree but stopped myself. I don’t usually tell my clients about my personal life—at least nothing I can’t predict the outcome of, anyway. They know Miles is my roommate. They know I don’t have any pets, but he’s constantly talking about getting a cat. They know I used to bartend after I did hair all day, and they celebrated with me when I finally took the leap to go full time. They know the safe things—the easy things.
I make a point not to tell clients about the men I’m interested in, secret aspirations, or deep, dark secrets. And right now, Chase feels a little like all three.
After getting drinks, we walked around the city for a while. We got ice cream from a local creamery and ate as we strolled the streets, talking about everything and nothing. The conversation felt natural. It had none of the back-and-forth interview feel that usually comes with a first date.
Eventually, we ended up outside my apartment, even though his car was parked in front of the wine bar. Him walking me to my door was a sweet gesture, for a friend, but even as we stood there, saying goodnight, I was drawn to him. Thanks to the wine, I’m almost certain I watched his mouth as he said goodnight instead of looking him in the eye, and when he reached out a hand and said, “This was fun, Candace,” it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
It was fun. It was the most fun I’ve had on a date in a long time—friends or not. Maybe that’s why I keep replaying the night in my head. Going over his comments and motions. Analyzing times when he could have been flirting but wasn’t.
He paid for my drinks, insisting I’d be able to do the same next time.
He walked me home.
He texted me as soon as he got home with a, “I can’t tell you how much I needed that,” text.
He has done all the things I’d want him to do if it were a real date. Even the past few days have been sprinkled with random texts to make me laugh, and I’m not sure how he does it. It feels like he knows me so well even though we met less than a week ago.
And through Miles’s entire interrogation afterward, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“It’s perfect like always!” Michelle puts a hand on my arm, forcing me back to the present. “Please, don’t ever leave. I don’t think I could trust anyone else with my hair.”
Giving her a warm smile, I reassure her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She grins and gets to her feet to dig out cash from her purse. While she’s counting, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Somehow, I know it’s Chase.
After saying goodbye to Michelle with a quick hug, I tuck the money into my apron and pull out my phone. Sure enough, Chase’s name stares at me from the notification bar, and I have to bite back my smile.
Chase:
Free today?
Two words. There are only two words, and somehow my entire mood has lifted.
Candace:
Saturdays at the salon are crazy busy. What’s up?
Chase:
Oh, right. Hairdresser. How are you holding up?
I look around at the state of my station. There’s hair on the floor, dirty towels near the wash area, an empty shampoo bottle that needs to be thrown away, and tubes of Framesi color lying next to a dirty mixing bowl.
Candace:
I might need to squeeze in time to get some caffeine, but other than that, I’m holding.
Chase:
Understandable.
I had to come into the office, so I’m downtown. I’ll be there soon.
I stare at his message, trying to understand it. While we were out Thursday, I forgot to ask him what he does for work. He’s always dressed in a way that screams nine to five, so I didn’t think he’d be one to work weekends.
As tempting as it is to text him back and ask him what he means, I don’t have time to get into it with him. I set down my phone and start cleaning up. My next client will be here in fifteen minutes, and the place needs to be spotless before then.
After putting everything else away, I stand at the sink to clean out the small mixing bowl and color brush. The hot water used to sting my skin, but over the years I’ve gotten used to it.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a vanilla latte. Vanilla is always a safe choice.”
I look over my shoulder to find Chase standing with a coffee in each hand. His hair is more relaxed, and he’s wearing faded wash jeans with a gray T-shirt. It takes a minute for me to speak. How does he look so good in business attire and like this?
“Hey,” I say before turning off the water and wiping my hands on my apron. “How do you know where I work?”
“I went with iced because I figured blow-dryers are hot.” He hands me the cup. “Hope that’s okay.”
I stare at him.
“Oh, and the other night when we were walking, you proudly pointed over here and said, ‘That’s where I work.’” He gives me an amused look. “You don’t remember?”
Now that he mentions it, I can vaguely recall. “Well, thank you.” I lift the coffee to my lips and take a sip. “You can’t go wrong with something like a vanilla latte.”
He smiles an easy, beautiful smile as he leans against the side of my cabinet. Past him, Amanda has her wide eyes locked on me and mouths, “Client?”
I give her a subtle shake of my head as I take another sip, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Chase looks over his shoulder at Amanda, who resumes sweeping hair off the floor like it’s her life’s mission.
When he brings his attention back to me, he has an eyebrow cocked. “A friend of yours?”
I glare at him playfully. “Yes. A very blonde, very off-limits friend of mine.” He can have all the blondes in the world, just not that one. Not yet anyway. If I ever get to a point where having him near me doesn’t thicken the air, then so be it.
His warm eyes shimmer at my response, the playful mischief inside him waking at the sound of my threat. “Why?”
Well, I certainly can’t tell him the air thickening reason. With a shrug, I say, “She’s too young for you.”
“You don’t know how old I am.”
He’s right—annoyingly right. I tilt my head like I haven’t been scrutinizing his every detail since he walked in here. When we got drinks on Thursday, he was clean shaven. Now the smooth skin has a perfect layer of stubble. It’s just enough to make me think he might even be a little older than me, but I’m not sure. Some men are just blessed with great facial hair.
“You’re trying to figure it out, aren’t you?” he asks.
I straighten. “It doesn’t matter.”
Another lift of his brow, that familiar look of amusement flashing across his features. “I’m too old for her, but it doesn’t matter how old I am?” When I don’t answer right away, he tilts his head. “You’re young. How old are you?”
“Do you always go around asking women how old they are?”
“I ask my friends lots of things.”
The way he’s looking at me makes me forget my age for a moment. “Um, twenty-seven.”
He puts a relaxed hand to his chest. “Twenty-eight. See, that wasn’t so bad. We’ve learned a lot about each other today.” He raises his drink as a sort of salute and takes a sip.
I let out a breath of laughter. “All we learned is our ages. ”
His lips are still at his cup when he smiles at my response, and it feels like my hands could melt all the ice in my coffee. “Not true.” Lowering his drink, he says, “I also learned that your friend over there is off-limits, and that you felt the need to make sure I knew that.”
“There’s the blonde thing to consider.”
He looks down at his drink, a subtle smirk forming. “Ah, yes. How dare I have a type?” He nods, agreeing with whatever I’m not saying. “They should lock me up.”
My lips twist, and when his dark eyes lift to meet mine, his smirk only grows.
The bell chimes as my next client walks through the door. She’s the daughter of another client—a bit of a moody teenager, but she usually has no fear when it comes to her hair, so that can be fun.
“She’s here for me,” I say to Chase as I set down my drink. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
“Of course. Can’t have you falling asleep at the chair.” He gives a slight nod. “Have a good day, Candace.”
I give him a brief smile. “You too,” I say quickly before turning my attention to the girl getting settled in my chair. “Hey! How are you?”
She answers something generic, like “fine” or “good,” but I don’t catch it. I’m too busy replaying my last interaction with Chase. Even without the caffeine, I think I’d be buzzing from his presence alone.