Chapter Thirteen
Ruby
I’ve almost got all of the conditioner washed out of my favorite client's hair, when the doorbell jingles.
“I’ll get it,” Alayna calls, setting the broom against the edge of her station and hustling past me. I toss her a grateful smile.
“That feels nice,” My client, Mr. Turner, says, letting his wrinkled eyelids fall closed.
“Doesn’t it? I always loved getting my hair washed as a kid.
” I hold the sprayer over his thick, silver hair until the suds begin to disappear.
He’s a lonely, wealthy widower who drops by twice a week in the evenings to get his hair washed.
He’s sweet and a very generous tipper, so Alayna and I usually take turns giving him a wash.
“Uh, Ruby?”
I blink up at my friend. “Yeah?”
“Dash is here to see you.”
The man himself appears behind her, and my heartrate spikes.
A gurgling from below startles me—the sprayer is aimed right at Mr. Turner’s face!
“Oh, dear.” I drop the spray nozzle back into place and yank a towel from off the counter. “I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Turner.” I attempt to pat his face dry. “I must not have been paying attention.”
He struggles to sit upright, shoulders heaving. Alayna rushes over to assist, and we manage to get him up. I lower the towel as he splutters, “That was quite the experience!”
“Again, I apologize. I looked away for just one second and—”
“Don’t be sorry, my dear. It was quite invigorating!” He gives my hand a firm pat while tears practically leak out of Alayna’s eyes, she’s laughing so hard.
“That’ll wake a person up, am I right?” Dash adds from where he stands a few paces away, blatantly watching the spectacle unfold.
“Do you mind?” I ask, giving him my best death glare.
He runs a hand over his mouth and walks away, giving me the distinct feeling that he too is doing his darndest to hold back a fit of laughter.
Once Alayna and I have Mr. Turner mostly dried off, we help him to his feet and walk him to the chair at my station. “There will be no charge today, Mr. Turner,” I say, still mortified that I hosed the man down. “And I owe you a new shirt.”
“Nonsense.” The older man laughs. “I have enough shirts to last me through the apocalypse.”
I rub a hand over my forehead as Alayna cups my shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you go and deal with that,” she murmurs, darting her wide, blinking eyes toward Dash, “and I will take care of Mr. Turner.”
“But—”
“Go,” she insists. “It’s fine. I’ll get him good and dry for you.” With a firm pat, she turns away from me and uncoils the hair dryer. “So how’s your week going, Mr. T.?”
And just like that, I’m officially dismissed.
I practically stomp my way up to the front counter, annoyed at Dash and myself. Him for showing up to yet again witness such a mortifying experience and myself for letting it happen at all.
Dash is seated on one of the two teal tufted velvet sofas in the reception area, pretending to read a lifestyle magazine. And I know he’s pretending because it’s upside down.
“Interesting article?” I cross my arms under my chest, lips pursed.
He slaps the magazine closed, hopping to his feet. “Very.”
I narrow my eyes and shake my head. “You know, before you came into my life, I never hit anyone in the face with shaving cream or water while at work. I think you might bring bad luck.”
He laughs, hands on his hips. “Or maybe my startling good looks have a dizzying effect on you.” He motions to the line of shampoo bowls along the wall. “You waterboarded that poor old man back there.”
“I did not waterboard him—”
“You didn’t see his face,” he splutters, his amusement finally breaking free. “Poor guy nearly drowned.”
“He did not!”
“He so did, Tinsel. But you caught yourself just in time.” I shake my head in denial, but he keeps at it. “I’m just saying, it was entertaining. And also ego boosting in some weird, selfish way.”
Heat slams into my cheeks, likely turning them beet red. Mr. Cocky Hockey Boy doesn’t get to accuse me of attempted murder when he’s the one who caused the accident. “You’re so arrogant.”
His eyes widen a fraction as if I’ve shocked him.
“Not the worst thing I’ve ever been called. Though it hurts worse coming from you, Tinsel.” His smirk remains, both humoring and frustrating me.
“Excuse me?” I plant my hands on my hips.
He stares back, eyebrows raised. “You’re my new favorite hair stylist. Of course I want you to think well of me.”
I can’t think of a retort for that. He says and does things that leave me flustered, making coherent responses impossible.
“Anyway, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I did say I was coming, remember?”
I nod. Of course I remember. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since our text conversation.
I quickly let my gaze roll over him, really taking him in for the first time today.
His light blue collared shirt doesn’t quite look expensive, but he fills it out to the point of perfection.
He’s not wearing his designer jeans today, just a pair of khaki pants that narrow at the ankles.
Bright white ankle socks with tennis shoes that look brand new.
My hand mindlessly fiddles with the end of my braid as Dash reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone. “Okay, full disclosure?” He waits, looking at me like he needs my approval for whatever he’s about to say next.
“Full disclosure,” I repeat, intrigued.
“I don’t actually have physical tickets to give you.” He licks his bottom lip, eyes still locked on mine as if trying to gauge my reaction. “They’re electronic. I just need your email to send them to you.”
The start of a smile begins to form, so I roll my lips to keep it hidden. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you already know I’ll use every excuse to see you.”
My stomach flip flops at his confession, so easy for him to say yet filled with layers of meaning. “I didn’t know that actually,” I say, honestly.
“I’m sorry if that overwhelms you.” His voice turns gentler, kinder. Again, the conversation where I explained to him that I sometimes get overwhelmed easily comes to mind. It warms my heart that he’s concerned about me.
“Don’t worry,” he hedges. “I’m not going to ask you out again.” Something deep inside me wilts a little. “But I would like to give you and Beck something better than tickets. From the team, not just me personally.” He rubs his hands together, almost nervously. “Can I give it to you?”
My immediate thought is Duh! What are you waiting for? But I can’t say that. Instead, I say, “Sure.”
He turns and grabs a bag from behind the sofa and hands it to me. I tentatively accept it and peek inside.
“In addition to tickets, I’d like to gift you guys these. Passes to all the games—the women’s and the men’s—for the whole tournament.”
I pull out two lanyards, similar to the ones we wore last night, with laminated passes attached.
It feels like there’s still more in the bag, but before I can sneak a look to see, Dash adds, “Those will give you guys access to everything for the next two weeks.” He pauses and clears his throat.
“It’d be great if you both could be there. ”
My heart does all those funny new tricks it just learned as I stare back at Dash and absorb his words. He wants Beck and me to be able to attend everything, for the whole series. Not only would this make Beck’s entire year, but it leaves me feeling…wanted.
“Dash, this is too much,” I say, my eyes growing a bit misty. “I really appreciate you doing this, but—”
“Is that the only reason?”
“The only reason?” I blink.
“The only reason you don’t want to accept the passes is because you feel I’m doing too much?
Because if that’s it, I promise I’m not.
I just…I want to do this for your brother.
I obviously don’t know the whole situation with your mom, but it sounds like you guys have had a hard go of it.
If coming to these games brightens Beck’s world for a little while, then I’d like to give him that. If you’ll let me.”
I bite my lip, staring down at the shiny red, white, and blue passes. If I tell him no, then I’ll be disappointing my brother. If I say yes, I’ll be opening myself up to…whatever is happening between Dash and me.
Do I like him? Absolutely. But if this can only be for a short time, I’m not sure I want that.
“Are there any strings attached with these passes?” I find myself asking.
“None whatsoever. All I’m offering is admission to the games, Ruby. I’m not asking you to spend any additional time with me.”
A hollow feeling invades my chest. I’m not trying to make Dash feel like he’s not worth my time.
He’s a great guy on all accounts as far as I can tell.
I’m just not used to this focused, over-the-top interest, coupled with his next-level generosity…
it’s a lot to process in such a short period of time.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t process it.
I want to. I want to accept the passes and Dash’s sudden interest.
“I accept,” I say simply.
His grin could light up all of DC for weeks. “That’s great. I’m glad. In that case, please look at what’s left in the bag.”
I open the bag wider to see what’s inside: a red, white, and blue hat with USA across the front and a five-hundred-dollar voucher good for both the arena’s gift shop and dining venues.
“Dash,” I gasp. “This really is too much.”
“Not for my biggest fan, it’s not.” He tucks both hands back into his pockets. “Look, you wanted to give Beck a memorable experience. This is your chance.”
Big, fat tears threaten to roll down my cheeks.
There is so much I’ve wished I could do for Beck since everything happened with Mom.
But being in survival mode limited what I could do.
He’s missed out on sports, buying the latest gaming systems, and even some big school events because we couldn’t swing it either financially or because of Mom’s treatment schedule.
But now that she’s on the mend, I’ve attempted to make up for the things he’s lost; it’s just been a lot for one person with limited resources.