Never Say Maybe

Chapter 1

Angie

You’re supposed to be

the leading lady of your own life.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” Jayme’s eyes light with mischief as she reads to us from her spot in my chair.

“That a single woman in possession of no fortune has no need of a husband.” She pauses and looks around the salon at the rest of us, and then she reads, “What she needs is a raise!”

We all break into laughter. Even Mabel, one of our seniors in town who is sitting under the dryers against the colorful back wall next to her two best friends, Memaw and Esther.

They’re all here for their weekly wash and curl.

The three of them look like a photo straight out of the 1950s, wearing styling capes, holding gossip magazines, curlers in their hair and their lips painted in bright shades of red and hot pink.

The salon smells faintly of hair dye and setting spray. The sounds of conversations bounce off the walls, mingling together into a delightfully indecipherable chatter.

“That’s not how the line goes,” Lexi complains from her spot in Laura’s station chair. “You can’t just go twisting one of the best lines in literature.”

“Can’t I now?” Jayme asks. “I’m playing with it for my novel. My heroine is dead set against dating. She’s been burned and she loves her single life.”

“Your heroine is part wolf, right?” Laura asks.

“Yes. She’s a wolf shifter and she’s done with alpha wolves for good.”

“Can’t blame a girl for not wanting to date a wolf,” Shannon says from her spot near the window where she’s doing a manicure.

“And you’re not basing this character on yourself?” Laura asks, raising her brows and looking at Jayme in the mirror.

“Because I’m burnt out on men who devour women like sheep?”

Laura laughs. “Yeah. That.”

“Being burnt would make anyone gun-shy,” I say. “I’m not interested in wolves or men. I could use a raise, though.”

Everyone laughs. And then the seniors under the dryer start talking. That usually makes the rest of us go silent so we can hear what they’re talking about. Ninety percent of the time it’s gossip—even if it’s not accurate, it’s entertaining.

“Mabel?” Esther says.

“What?”

“You smell like that candle I bought at that candle party Jeanie threw last month. Kind of smoky and …” Esther’s voice drifts off and then in a higher-pitched tone of voice, she says, “Smoky. Very smoky!”

I turn to see what’s going on, dropping the section of Jayme’s hair I was about to trim.

Esther’s expression is alarmed. She attempts to stand, forgetting the lid of the dryer is down. She conks her head and plops back into the chair.

“You’re smoking, Mabel!” Esther shouts.

“I haven’t smoked a day in my life!” Mabel says.

Customers spontaneously stand from their chairs and grab their purses, running out of the salon with foil in their hair and capes around their shoulders.

“Mabel’s on fire!” one of them shouts and the rest rush the door, trying to squeeze out past one another.

My pulse thrums beneath my skin.

Memaw glances in Mabel’s direction. “You’re sizzling, Mabel! Like a steak on the barbecue!”

Esther pauses, sniffs, and says, “It’s more like that barbecue Walt makes on Founder’s Day.”

Mabel’s face contorts and then she sniffs and shouts, “I’m on fire! Help! Help!”

Memaw shouts, “Hang on, Mabel! I’ve got you!” She lifts the lid to her dryer and stands, grabbing her portable drink cup from the floor and removing the lid.

Laura’s already heading to the back room at a trot. “I’ll get the extinguisher!” she shouts. “Call 9-1-1!” Esther yells, her voice a panicked shriek.

I pick up my cell and walk toward the dryers at the same time as Memaw lifts her flask of water and tosses it straight at Mabel.

Mabel gasps as a wave of water douses her and the dryer, followed by a plume of steam rising with a loud hiss.

She shouts, “This is it! I’m going up in flames!”

The dryer keeps running.

Mabel flails her arms, swatting at the cloud of steam and screaming.

“My life is over! I’m dying! This is how it ends! Up in smoke!”

Laura runs out with the extinguisher in hand, but stops dead in her tracks when she sees the water pooling around Mabel’s chair and no sign of actual flames.

I press the power button and unplug the dryer. The hum of the motor stops.

“Oh! Mabel!” Esther says, “What will I do without my best friend?”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Memaw says from the other side of Esther.

“You are,” Esther says, turning her attention to Memaw. “A woman can have two best friends.”

I lift the hood over Mabel’s head.

She looks up at me wide-eyed. Her hair is half damp, curlers sagging and askew. Her makeup is smeared. But otherwise, she’s fine.

The sound of sirens wailing in the distance barely registers with me. We have occasional sirens in town—especially if Jesse’s on duty. He likes to exercise his right to blare the police siren over some of the smallest things, like someone jaywalking.

I step closer and take a look at Mabel’s hair. Nothing’s burnt. One small spot might have been slightly singed.

“I may have gotten a little generous with the setting lotion,” I say.

“Setting lotion?” Mabel asks. “So, I’m not on fire?”

“You’re going to live!” Esther exclaims, slapping her weathered hand to her heart.

“No thanks to you,” Mabel says.

“I saved your life,” Memaw says, triumphantly. Then she adds, “You can buy me lunch.”

“After Angie re-curls my hair,” Mabel says. “I’m not going out looking like a drowned rat.”

The sirens grow louder. “Did someone call the fire department?” Laura asks.

“I did,” Shannon says. “I thought Mabel was on fire.”

The customers are all peering in the front plate-glass window. Behind them, a fire engine pulls up and three firefighters pour out in turnout gear.

EJ walks in first, looking around and sniffing the air.

“Someone called in a fire?” he asks.

“I did,” Shannon says. “Sorry. Mabel was under the dryer and some of the product started sizzling.” She adds, “I’m really sorry.”

EJ smiles at her. “Better safe than sorry, Shannon.”

He walks in our direction, dark hair curling out from under the edges of his helmet, mossy-green eyes fixed on me. His stride is calm, purposeful, in control. He moves through the room as if fire would have to recede at the mere thought of him—not arrogant, just his personal brand of confidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks me.

“I think I applied too much styling product. Mabel’s hair got overheated.”

A blush rises up my cheeks for no reason.

“Setting the customers on fire, Angie?” he shakes his head playfully.

“I turned the dryer off and unplugged it,” I tell him.

“Good thinking,” he says, squatting down and checking the outlet, the cord and the dryer.

“Everything looks good,” he says as he stands to his full height. “Are you okay, Mabel?”

“I’m fine. Just don’t take any pictures of me. I look a mess.”

“You look beautiful,” EJ says.

I think Mabel blushes.

William, a firefighter most people call Weber, walks in the front door. “Everything okay, EJ?”

“Yeah. All’s clear. You can tell the customers to come on back in.”

Weber steps back out the door.

Customers fill the station chairs and their chatter fills the room.

“You know, Angie, if you wanted to see me …” EJ says with a half smile. “... you could just call or stop by the station.”

“Wanted to see you?” I huff.

“You don’t have to resort to setting seniors on fire,” he says with a wink.

“As if, EJ,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He smiles and his dimples pop. Those lines next to his eyes crinkle too.

EJ’s attractive. No doubt.

But I’m a single mom of twins. And like Jayme’s character said, I have no need of a husband. I’ve got my mom and my friends. My preschoolers are the two men in my life.

EJ’s face goes serious. “All kidding aside, you know you can call us anytime. I’m glad this was a false alarm.”

“Not as glad as I am,” Mabel says with a boisterous laugh.

EJ turns toward the front of the shop. He pauses at Shannon’s table. “Don’t worry about calling us, Shannon. I’m glad you did.”

“Thanks, EJ. I never want to waste your time. You could be needed at a real fire.”

He nods at her. “Well, have a good day.”

Then he walks out.

And I watch him go because it’s a free country and I’m allowed to appreciate a handsome man in a firefighter’s uniform. It doesn’t mean I’m interested in anything more than looking. Because I’m definitely not.