3. Celeste
Mrs. Paulette stood from my chair, turning her head slowly in the mirror.
“Now, see, this is why I don’t cheat on you, Celeste. You get me right every time.”
I smiled and brushed a loose strand from her shoulder. “I appreciate your loyalty.”
She slipped folded bills into my hand before I could stop her.
“That extra is for your babies.”
My fingers closed around the folded bills. That simple kindness went straight through me, past pride, past exhaustion, past the place where I kept telling myself I had everything handled. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I’m grown enough to know what I have to do and blessed enough to do what I want. Take it.”
I laughed softly. “Thank you.”
Her hand covered mine for a second. “And call that electrician. I heard them lights acting ugly earlier.”
“I called,” I said.
“Good. Don’t have me meeting Jesus under no dryer.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “Yes, ma’am.”
She left with her purse tucked tight under one arm and her head held high, the bell over the front door chiming behind her.
I watched the back station after the door closed. They’d behaved for the last hour. I still didn’t trust them. The empty chairs bothered me more than the flickering lights.
It was humbling how many ways life could remind me I wasn’t in control. Children did it. Grief did it. Silence did it. Now the walls of my own shop had joined the choir.
Sometimes, I wondered if God got tired of me asking Him to hold up what I couldn’t carry anymore.
Then I’d remember grace wasn’t a paycheck.
I didn’t have to earn it before Heaven released it.
I could be tired, scared, irritated, uncertain, and still covered.
That was the part my spirit knew and my body kept forgetting.
My phone vibrated against the front desk before that thought could finish pulling me under. The screen lit up with the name of our sibling group chat.
C-Black Command Center
I should’ve ignored it, but I never did.
Camden:
Everybody check in. Mama’s conducting another wellness audit.
Corbin:
Some of us have jobs.
Corinne:
Some of us answer the phone.
Corbin:
Mama asked what I’m bringing Saturday.
Calista:
You’re bringing ice.
Celine:
Calista, please
Cassian:
My presence.
Corinne:
I’ll catch the next one.
Calloway:
Y’all enjoy. Miss y’all.
Cruz:
I’ll be home in 3 months. Miss y’all have fun
Corbin:
Why I always get assigned frozen water?
Corinne:
Because last time you volunteered to grill and burned hot dogs so bad Daddy would’ve risen just to rebuke you.
Cruz:
Ayooo!!
Cassia:
Justice for Corbin
Then—
Camden:
Cessy, Onyx said something about the shop.
Me:
I’m ok. I shut down the back stations. An electrician’s coming.
Immediately . . .
Corinne:
Need me to get the kids?
Cassia:
I can sit at the shop.
Calista:
I’ll supervise the electrician.
Corbin:
She means flirt.
Calista:
Both are spiritual gifts.
I laughed despite myself.
Me:
Love y’all.
I set the phone down.
The bell chimed again, and Ms. Denise stepped inside, carrying her signature satin pouch.
She paused and looked toward the darkened back row. “Are you still having electrical trouble?”
“They’re behaving for now.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I sighed. “Yes, ma’am. They’re still acting up. Somebody’s coming.”
“Good. Because the Lord gives wisdom.”
I draped the cape around her shoulders and started separating the first section of locs.
Sisterlocs always held a special place in my heart.
I wore my own waist-length sisterlocs, and every retie reminded me that healthy growth couldn’t be rushed.
It demanded patience, consistency, and gentle hands.
She watched me through the mirror. “You tired, baby.”
“I’m okay.”
“Long day or long season?”
My hands slowed.
“. . . Both.”
She nodded. “You’re still a woman, Celeste.”
The words settled somewhere I wasn’t ready to visit.
I admitted quietly, “Sometimes, I don’t know if I’m living or just surviving.”
Ms. Denise reached for my hand. “Grief will make you feel guilty for resting, laughing, needing people, even hoping again. Don’t believe everything grief tells you.
” My throat tightened. “God don’t need you pretending you’re fine,” she continued.
“He already knows the truth.” I blinked hard.
“Take it one day at a time. I’m praying for you. ”
“I appreciate that.”
The salon emptied. Starr packed her bag. “Miss Cee, you want me to stay until the electrician gets here?”
“No, baby. Go ahead. You have class tonight.”
“I can be late.”
“You won’t be late on my account.”
She hesitated. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She looked unconvinced, but she gathered her bag. “Text me if you need me.”
“I will. Thank you, sweetie.”
When the door closed behind her, I locked it, then unlocked it again because the electrician was still coming. I turned the sign to closed and straightened the stack of product cards near the register until they sat perfectly aligned.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was Kayden.
Kayden:
You good?
Me:
I’m good. Y’all at home?
Kayden:
Yeah. JJ picked up Skye and Zuri. Maya being weird.
Me:
Be nice.
Kayden:
Are you coming home soon?
Me:
As soon as the electrician finishes.
Kayden:
Love you.
Me:
Love y’all. Text me if anything comes up.
I set my phone down and leaned both hands against the desk.
“Lord,” I whispered, “I’m tired.”
No polished prayer. No testimony. Just the truth.
Outside, the low rumble of a motorcycle rolled into the parking lot, followed by the heavy open and shut of a truck door, then another. My spine straightened before I told it to, my palms still resting on the desk while the prayer I had just breathed settled somewhere behind my ribs.
Through the front window, Onyx came into view first, removing his helmet as he headed toward the salon.
Then the driver’s side opened, and another man stepped down.
I knew neither man from the truck, yet kinship showed before either of them spoke.
They carried pieces of each other in the depth of their skin, the width of their shoulders, and the sharp-eyed way they surveyed the lot before moving.
The driver pulled my attention and held it without asking.
Tall and dark-skinned with long braids drawn neatly behind him, he moved with the unhurried confidence of a man accustomed to carrying responsibility.
His skin caught the afternoon light, warm and deep, while a close beard framed a strong jaw, thick brows, and a full mouth resting in an easy line.
When his gaze lifted toward the salon, I caught the light-brown, almost hazel color of his eyes through the glass, observant enough to make me look away before he caught me staring.
His work shirt stretched across broad shoulders and arms built by ladders, tool bags, and honest labor, and when he reached into the truck for his tools, nothing about him looked strained or showy, as though strength had learned manners on him.
My fingers stilled on the desk.
I looked down before he caught me staring and straightened appointment cards that didn’t need touching. Heat climbed into my face, and my pulse forgot every bit of home training it had.
Lord, please.
The man beside him said something that made Onyx laugh, but the driver only gave a small smile. His gaze lifted to the salon sign before moving toward the door, composed and focused, grounded, carrying a presence that made my body notice before my mind gave permission.
By the time the bell over the door chimed, I had both hands on the desk, my face arranged into something professional, and my heart acting like it had never been taught to mind its business.
“No, ma’am,” I whispered to myself. “Absolutely not.”
Onyx opened the door and stepped inside like family instead of company.
“Celly.”
I moved from behind the desk, and he pulled me into a one-armed hug. For half a second, I let myself lean into the safety of somebody who knew how to read past my mouth.
Onyx asked, “You straight?”
“I’m fine.”
He pulled back and gave me that look men gave when they knew women were using fine as a deadbolt. “Try again.”
“I’m managing.”
“That sounds closer to the truth.”
The man behind him entered, carrying a tool bag with curiosity all over his face.
“This the famous Celestial Crowns?”
Onyx hooked a thumb toward him. “This is Justice Brooks. Everybody calls him Juice. He’s Josiah’s cousin and business partner.”
Justice grinned. “And comic relief with credentials.”
Despite my nerves, I smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
Justice answered, “Likewise. Onyx left out the part where the shop smells like vanilla and good decisions.”
“That depends on the day. Today, it smells like electrical problems and stress.”
Justice glanced around. “Still better than half the places we service. One shop smelled like burnt popcorn and consequences.”
I laughed, and when I did, the tall man behind him looked at me.
Just looked.
His attention wasn’t greedy, but it wasn’t empty either. It made me aware of my own face, my hands, the soft places grief had taught me to cover.
He stepped forward with a tool bag in one hand.
Up close, he was even taller than he’d appeared through the window. The same composure remained in the set of his shoulders and the calm way his hazel-brown eyes held mine without pressing.
“Mrs. Coleman?”
His voice was low, smooth, and measured, settling into the room without taking it over.
I swallowed. “Celeste is fine.”
“Josiah Brooks.”
I accepted his hand. Lord, that was a mistake.
His palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm without trying to prove anything. The tattoos along his forearm shifted when his fingers closed around mine, and my pulse became far too interested in the contact.
I pulled away first.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You did right calling. You shut the back stations down?”
“Yes. Dryers too.”
Approval moved across his face, brief but clear. “Good.”
Onyx looked from Josiah to me. Juice did the same.
I reached for the business card on the counter as though it needed supervision.