CHAPTER 11 Amelia
Amelia
“So, he was…nice?” Andrea says the word ‘nice’ in the same way she’d say the word ‘evil’. Like it’s a bad thing.
“There’s nothing wrong with nice,” I defend Mike the electrician, half-heartedly though, because I’m not invested enough in him to care what my boss and mentor thinks of him.
“You’re young and beautiful. You’re in the prime of your life. Please don’t settle for nice.”
We’re sitting in the salon, taking advantage of the Saturday afternoon lull between appointments, discussing my date from the night before, which, as mentioned, had been…fine.
“He turned up, he was on time, he wasn’t drunk and he didn’t bring his mum. I’d say the night was a success.”
Her mouth twists in disgust. “You need higher standards.”
“When you’ve been on as many bad dates as I have, just common decency is a win.”
She pats my leg. “You’ve had some pretty bad luck. Your friends are terrible matchmakers.”
“Try telling them that,” I grumble into my much-needed cup of tea. “They won’t let up; they’re convinced they have the perfect guy for me.” Big quotation marks around the word ‘perfect’.
“So, was there chemistry? Any steamy kisses that can make up for his…niceness?” She begins sweeping the salon floor to prepare for her next customer, and I follow suit. My last appointment had cancelled, which means I’m technically done for the day and once my station is sorted, I’m hoping to leave early. A night in on the couch with my friends from Stars Hollow is calling my name.
“There were no kisses, steamy or otherwise.” I fan my face, which is heating at the thought of the almost kiss that has been floating in my mind for the last twenty-four hours. “He may have been decent, handsome even, but there wasn’t a single part of me that wanted his lips on mine.”
Andrea purses her lips. “You can’t force chemistry. It’s there or it isn’t.” The salon door opens. “Speaking of chemistry…”
My head jolts towards our latest customer, and I’m floored by who is standing there. It’s the man who’s been consuming all my thoughts, appearing like I’d conjured him up out of my sheer will alone.
“Jake!” Andrea rushes to greet him like he’s a long-lost friend.
“Oh, hi.” Jake looks startled. “You’re Andrea, right?”
My friend beams at him while my heart bangs about in my chest. Why is such a simple thing, like remembering the name of someone important to me, so impactful?
“Are you here for Amelia?” Andrea asks this with a bucket-load of innuendo in her voice.
I groan. “Drea!”
He looks between us, bemused. “Um, I came for a haircut?” His voice rises at the end, like it’s a question. Like he’s not exactly sure why he’s here at all.
“Wonderful. Millie’s appointment has cancelled, and she has time now.” They both turn to look at me. I remain frozen in place. “Don’t you?”
My mind whirls with the implications of this. A haircut will mean touching him. Touching his beautiful, lush head of hair. Standing close to him. Breathing him in. I’m not strong enough, not with the almost kiss of yesterday lingering between us.
“Ummm.” Brilliant response, Amelia.
“I should’ve made an appointment.” Jake’s voice sounds apologetic and disappointed, and this makes up my mind.
“No, it’s fine,” I say, earning a flash of his dimple. “I have time.”
“Wonderful.” Andrea claps and I shoot her what I hope is a warning glance. Calm down, I tell her telepathically. It’s just a haircut.
I motion Jake into my chair and then turn away to wash my hands. And re-group. I can do this. It’s what I do all day, every day. It’s just hair.
Thick, dark, luscious hair, the devil in my ear whispers. Sounding an awful lot like Andrea.
“So, what are you wanting done today?” I stand behind Jake, focusing on the back of his head to avoid looking at his green eyes in the mirror.
“A trim?” Again, it seems like he hadn’t given any thought to this haircut, like he’d just ended up here as an afterthought.
Tilting his head from side to side to get a better idea of how much I can take off, I secretly love the unfettered access I now have to just look at him.
“I can cut a bit off from the top and then neaten up the sides?” I offer this because really, he doesn’t need a haircut. His hair is as perfect as the rest of him.
“Sounds good.” He catches my gaze in the mirror and I’m captivated. Unable to breathe while he’s looking at me like that.
“You usually start with washing the hair,” Andrea sing-songs from the other side of the salon, her face alive with mischief.
I clear my throat, my cheeks flaming red in my reflection. “Right, yes. Come with me.”
He follows close behind me, so close I forget how to walk. It’s one foot in front of the other, right?
“Are you OK?” Jake asks as he takes a seat in one of our famous massage chairs.
Am I OK?I had been OK until he’d brushed his lips oh-so-close to mine. And since then, my world has been slightly off-kilter.
“Fine, just a bit tired.”
He sits down, taking off his glasses (those glasses!) and tucking them into his top pocket before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.
“Tired?” he asks as I turn the water on, checking the temperature before turning the hose on the top of his head. “Late night?”
He opens one eye briefly, piercing me with a look that is as loaded as his question.
“Hmmm, not too late.” I know what he’s asking without asking, and part of me wants to make him wait. To make him suffer as payback for the almost kiss.
“So, your date went well?” he asks finally, through clenched teeth.
I don’t answer, instead getting to work washing his hair, allowing myself the indulgence to run my fingers through its thickness, massaging his scalp as I go.
“Oh my God,” he moans, a sound that I feel all the way through my body. “That feels amazing.”
My fingers tingle and a shiver takes over my body. I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am. It’s just hair-washing. Why does it feel like more?
“Don’t stop,” he sighs as I turn the water off, making me want to turn it back on again.
“The washing portion of the haircut is done,” I tell him, my laugh breathless and strained.
He opens his eyes, staring straight into mine. “Shame.”
With wobbly legs, I guide him back to his seat, turning away to gather my supplies and my wits.
“So, just a little off the top?” My voice is as wobbly as my legs.
“Sounds good.” Jake’s voice is also unsteady.
Right, what now?
“Scissors,” Andrea whispers to me, smiling kindly.
“Yes.” Flustered, I pick up the scissors and running my fingers through his hair again, I show him how much I’m going to cut off.
“OK?”
His eyes, greener without the lenses of his sexy glasses, lock with mine in the mirror. “OK.”
I wrench my gaze away from his, focussing on the job at hand. The sooner I finish, the sooner he’ll be gone and I can pull myself together. I’ve been in Jake’s presence many times before and never felt like this, like I’m a magnet and he’s a giant piece of metal, drawing me in and holding me there.
“Just tilt your head forward.” I get to work on the back of his head, straightening his hairline at the base of his skull, blowing a few stray hairs out of the way to get it perfect.
“You’re killing me, Millie.” His voice is low and strained.
I stop what I’m doing, looking in the mirror to see his jaw clenched tight, his lips in a straight line.
“Should I stop?” I say this as I run my fingers through the strands at the top of his head to shake out any loose ends, earning another strangled groan from the man in front of me.
“Don’t ever stop,” he replies, so softly I think I may have imagined it.
I shake out my hands to stop them trembling—that really doesn’t help when working with scissors—and spin his chair around to work on the front of his hair. Standing between his legs, I get down low to check that what I’ve cut is even on both sides.
“What are you doing?” His lips are close to mine and I can’t find the will to move away.
“Checking that it’s perfect,” I whisper back, my eyes on his hair, refusing to look anywhere else.
“Hmmm,” he mumbles back, his hands now on my hips, pulling me closer into him.
“Jake,” I say as a warning, but it comes out like a plea.
“Amelia.” His hands squeeze my hips and my eyes follow suit, closing tightly, trying to gain some composure.
We stand in this state of suspended animation, faces almost touching, his hands on me, and wait. For something to happen. For someone to make the next move.
Andrea, it turns out, is that someone. The blasting of the hairdryer, two seats over, snaps us both back to reality. I straighten up while Jake’s hands slip away, clenching as they go.
“I’ll just put some product in, and you’ll be good to go.” Avoiding looking at him, I stumble over to the display cabinet and grab the first thing I see. Pomade? That’ll do.
Running it through his hair as quickly as possible, touching as little of him as I can, I blast the hair dryer—on the cold setting—over his head, surreptitiously running the cool air over my body as well, before declaring my job done.
Finally. Thankfully.
“All done.”
He puts his glasses back on and inspects my work. “Best haircut I’ve ever had.” He smiles at me in the mirror and I can’t help but smile back.
“Thank you.”
I remove the towel from around his neck, swiping off a few remaining strands and earning a shudder from him in response.
“Can you book me in for another cut?” he asks as he hands over his credit card. “Next week?”
I laugh at his hopeful expression. “Let’s give your hair a chance to grow before we cut it again.”
His face drops, looking crestfallen and oh-so-charming. “OK, the week after then.”
I pencil him in for the same time next month, much to his chagrin, and then push him towards the front door.
“It’s time for us to close up now, Jake,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone firm but struggling. He looks so reluctant to leave.
“Oh, OK.” He looks around at the now-empty salon. “I guess I’ll see you soon?” He lingers by the door, his gaze intent on me.
“Yes. Soon,” I agree, though I can’t think of a reason I’d be seeing him soon. Other than that I really want to.
“Bye, Andrea,” he says to my friend, who’s been watching this all unfold with a grin.
“It’s nice seeing you, Jake. Don’t be a stranger.”
He gives a small salute, lingering in front of me like he wants to say something. But then doesn’t.
“Bye, Millie.”
I close the door behind him, waiting for him to be out of sight before leaning against it with a sigh. That was…something.
“I think I need a cigarette.”
My head snaps up to look at Andrea, whose grin has grown to cartoonish proportions.
“What?” She doesn’t smoke.
“Watching the two of you.” She fans her hand dramatically. “That was hot. H. O. T. Hot.”
I throw a towel at her. “Shut up!”
“Honey,” she says, her voice serious now. “If you want chemistry…” She points at the door. “Well, that was combustible.”
I don’t reply, because I can’t argue with her. What just happened with Jake was the steamiest thing to happen to me in a long time. Perhaps, ever. And we didn’t even kiss.
“Drea,” I whine. “What am I going to do?”
She hugs me. “Your heart knows what it wants, Millie. You just need to be brave enough to listen to it.”
And with that wonderful piece of useful but scary advice, she turns on the music and starts the final clean-down of the day. Leaving me in a puddle of indecision. And mess.
She’s right. My heart knows what it wants, it’s just the rest of me that is too terrified to reach out and take it. Too damaged by my past to believe I could ever have something real with someone as special as Jake.
So, I’m stuck.
I have no idea where to go from here.
*****
To a gala dinner. Apparently, that’s where I’m going from here.
This is according to Bella, who is forcing me to get all dressed up and attend a fancy charity ball when all I want to do is curl into a ball and shut out the world.
It’s been a week since the sexiest haircut of all time, a term coined by Andrea and now adopted by my friends, and apart from a few casual text messages and funny memes from Jake, it has been wholly uneventful. No random run-ins at the café or salon. No flirty banter or inquiries about my dating experience. No anything, really. And it’s maddening.
“What does he want from me?” I ask Callie the Cactus, hoping for some sort of clarity. Some way to move forward.
When she gives me nothing, because fair, she’s a plant, I pick up my phone to text Bella that I’m not going tonight. I’ve had enough peopling for the week; I need to recharge my battery. Munching on a handful of Tiny Teddies, I’m typing a long, very detailed explanation of why I won’t be attending the fancy gala ball, even though it’s for charity and probably a good place to meet a man (her words, not mine) when my phone rings.
It”s my mum.
“Hi Mum.” I keep the groan out of my voice, but really, I don’t have the energy for this conversation right now.
“Amelia,” she says, sounding ready to launch into a whine or a rant, “you haven’t been over to visit in a while.”
So, she’s settled on a guilt trip this time instead.
“Sorry, Mum.” I put the right amount of contrition in my voice, hoping this will stem the tide of her displeasure. “I’ve been really busy.”
“I know you have a full life without needing me in it.” I wince at the mum-guilt she’s dripping all over me. “But you know this time of year is difficult for me.”
Every year, like clockwork, as soon as the Christmas decorations go up in shopping centres and on street lamps, my mum’s mood descends with it. Any celebration that reminds her of what she once had, what my dad now has with someone else, another family, sends her spiralling downhill into depression. Most years, she drags me along with her. Maybe it’s time to change this pattern?
“Sorry,” I repeat, not having anything more to add. I am sorry to have neglected her, but sometimes being around her energy takes me weeks to get over. And I don’t have it in me to wade through that at the moment.
“Have you heard from him?” There’s no mistaking who she’s talking about. Her voice changes whenever she speaks about my dad, taking on a bitter quality before the sadness reclaims her. She never got over him leaving her the way he did. I’m not sure she even tried.
“No, Mum,” I tell her huffily. I have no relationship with my dad and she knows it. Apart from the obligatory birthday card he sends every year, I haven’t had any meaningful contact with him since he left us eleven years ago.
“I heard his wife is pregnant again.” Mum never gives his wife the courtesy of calling her by her name. She’ll forever be the ‘other woman’.
“That’s nice.” I keep all emotion out of my voice, walking a fine line here with my mum. If I sound happy for him, she’ll blow up. If I sound overly upset, she’ll take it personally. It’s hard work, these conversations.
“He never had time for his family when you were growing up. Now he’s happily popping out baby after baby.” What she’s saying is true—she did the bulk of the child-raising with me—but the bitterness in her voice reinforces the feeling that I was a burden to her. To them both. Especially now that my dad seems to be a doting father to the two, almost three, step-sisters I’ve never met.
“Maybe he’s changed?”
“That man will never change. I just feel sorry for that woman. What he did to me—to us—he’ll do to her too.” My mum continues ranting, and I attempt to tune her out. It’s best to just let her say what she needs to say, but as her anger and her hatred wash over me through the phone, I can clearly see now how much of this attitude towards men and relationships has seeped into me and my ability to be in a healthy one. The sentences “married to his job,” “men are never faithful” and “all men are the same, they’ll hurt you in the end,” echo through my brain, and I realise they’ve always been there, bouncing around while I’ve been navigating my way through the dating scene.
And like a lightbulb going off in my head, I see that this is why I’ve been doggedly picking the wrong men for so long. Because it’s been ingrained in me that all relationships are doomed to fail because all men are doomed to fail us. The blinding clarity of this as the underlying cause of all my relationship angst leaves me breathless.
“Anyway,” My mum is wrapping up while my mind spins with revelations. “Make sure you come and see me soon.”
“Sure thing, Mum. I’ll come by next week.”
She makes kissing sounds and hangs up and I stare at the screen, at the half-typed message to Bella. My hands shake as I delete my excuses, now determined to not shut myself away from having a night out with friends. I need to not become my mother, to not become a person who lets their past define them.
“Callie, I’m off to get ready for the ball.” And like Cinderella before me, I’m hoping this may be the night that I meet my Prince Charming. Conveniently forgetting that I’ve already met him, and he comes with the most delightful, black-rimmed glasses.
*****
“You look sensational.”
Bella’s gushing praise warms my insides.
Once I’d decided to embrace my night out at the ball, I’d taken a great deal of care getting ready. My hair (now mostly blonde) had been curled into loose waves and then swept up into an elegant-looking braided bun, making sure the purple ends were tucked away to keep the look classy. My silver dress has a deep v in the front and a high slit, the fabric clingy to my body, making the most of my slight curves and my feet are adorned with the most stunning pair of shoes I own. The strap across my toes is clear, so it looks like I’m barefooted, and the heels are covered in sparkly diamantes. In this outfit, I’m the most glamorous version of myself.
“Thanks, Bella. You look beautiful, as always.”
My friend grins and spins around to show me the low back of her champagne-coloured gown. With her Mediterranean olive skin tone and her dark hair swept to one side, she looks like a goddess. A fact that isn’t lost on her husband, who has been glued to her side the entire time we’ve been here.
“I was sure you were going to cancel coming tonight,” she says, taking a sip of her pink champagne. “In fact, I checked my phone every five minutes, expecting a message from you with some lame excuse for why you wouldn’t be here.”
My cheeks heat at her very accurate read of my character, knowing that I’d been a few seconds away from doing exactly that. “My mum called.”
Her mouth twists down into a frown. Bella knows better than anyone the difficult relationship I have with my mother. “And?”
I huff out a sigh. “And I decided I don’t want to be like her.” I continue on when I see her puzzled expression. “She’s so angry, you know? So bitter, so determined to never trust a man again. I don’t want to end up like that.”
“Oh honey, you won’t.” Bella runs her hand down my arm while Daniel nods along. “You haven’t shut yourself away from relationships. In fact, you’re the opposite. You give everyone a chance.”
“Yes, usually the wrong ‘everyone’. And that’s the problem. I’ve been choosing men that would inevitably fail me. And I need to stop.”
“You won’t hear an argument from me,” she chuckles. “You’ve chosen some real stinkers in the past.”
“And it’s time to break the pattern!”
Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Does that mean…?”
I put my hand up to stop her, dimming her light. “No more dating plan.”
“Hmmph.” She lets out a disgruntled sound that has Daniel tucking her under his chin and kissing her on the nose.
Ugh. They’re so darn cute.
“How about just one more?” Daniel asks, shocking us all. Since when did he let himself get dragged into our shenanigans?
“What are you talking about?” Bella asks her husband, looking up at him with curiosity.
“My mate Joe is here tonight and I know he’d love to meet Amelia.”
“Joe?” Bella squeals at the top of her lungs, causing heads to turn to see who was making such a racket. “Joe?” she repeats in a softer voice.
“Hang on,” I butt in. “I don’t want another set-up.”
“But Joe is perfect! I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before.” Bella’s words are racing together, making her sound like a chattering monkey in her excitement.
“It’s because you were doing the whole ABC thing,” Daniel reminds her in a dry voice. “And he’s a firefighter.”
Bella turns to me and my stomach drops at the look on her face. It’s like all her stars have aligned and every one of our problems has been solved. Right here and now. At this gala dinner.
“That’s right, he is a firefighter. And we just so happen to be up to the letter…F!”
I guzzle down the rest of the champagne in my glass and grab another one from a tray that’s floating by me. “I told you, Bella. No more dating plan.”
“But that’s the beauty of this. It’s not in the plan, it’s just…meant to be.”
I scoff at her dreamy expression and shake my head. “Not going to happen.”
“But…”
“No, Bella. No more set ups.”
“What if it’s not a set up?” Daniel asks. “What if you are both just at the same place at the same time? And he just was walking up right as we speak?”
The two of them have their attention glued to something behind me, and I search frantically for a way to get out of this. I simply cannot deal with another random set up that is bound to go horribly wrong.
“Daniel.”
I turn slightly at the gruff voice from directly behind me…to find a very attractive man in a tuxedo, smiling brightly at the three of us.
“Joe!” Daniel thumps his friend on the back. A manly greeting. “Good to see you. You remember my wife, Bella? And this is her friend, Amelia.”
Joe smiles at Bella before turning his dark brown eyes on me. Objectively speaking, this Joe character is hot. Like stupid hot. A man-mountain, stacked with muscles and wavey hair and a charming grin. And it’s making me feel…nothing.
“Hi.” I give him a small wave, earning a wide grin in response.
“Nice to meet you.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Bella nudging Daniel away and I vow to kill her at the next available opportunity. She’s so determined to play matchmaker; she’s forgotten her role as best friend. As in, don’t leave me to deal with another strange man who will inevitably end up a dud, best friend.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Joe tells me, swirling the ice around in the glass he’s holding.
That can’t be good.
“You have?”
“Daniel has mentioned you a few times. I’d been hoping to meet you one day.”
The bashful look on his face has me melting, just a little, and I stop looking for a way out of this conversation. “What’s he been saying?” I’m suspicious.
“Only good things,” he hastens to reassure me. “And just that he thought we should meet one day…” He trails off, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.
“Well, that’s nice.” I’m stumped as to what to say next. This gorgeous man is looking at me like I’m a slice of bread and he’s been starving, and yet I’m struggling to find any enthusiasm for this conversation.
“Amelia? Is that you?”
Hoorah, someone to get me out of this!
I turn swiftly to see which one of my friends is calling my name and is ultimately going to be my new favourite friend when I see it. Him. The owner of the voice.
“Mike?” It’s Mike the electrician. Otherwise known as the perfectly nice man I’d gone on a perfectly fine date with a week ago and then never called back.
“It is you!” He beams, like he’s struck gold and I can do nothing except flounder.
“Uh, hi?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” He kisses me on the cheek, taking my hand and squeezing it in his.
Now I’m wishing I wasn’t here.
“Um, yes. I’m here with Bella and Daniel…and…” I turn back to where Joe is watching this all unfold. “And this is Joe.”
Joe and Mike nod at each other, and their chests puff in unison as they size each other up.
What to do now?
“How do you two know each other?” Mike asks Joe as my temples throb. There are too many men to keep track of here.
“We just met. You two?” Joe asks, indicating between us.
“We went out.”
“Huh.”
“Yes,” I add uselessly. “That’s right.”
Silence descends over our awkward threesome. Where the hell is Bella when I need her?
“Amelia, is that you?”
Now what?
My stomach now down in my fancy shoes; I turn to see who is calling my name.
NO!
“Jake. Hi.”
How is this my life?