6. Josiah
Saturday Morning
I stayed in the truck for a moment. I had a job to do. Not a fantasy. Not a pursuit. A job.
Juice pulled in behind me with the crew. He climbed out with a breakfast sandwich in one hand, despite telling me fifteen minutes ago that he was “pulling up now.”
He knocked on my window. “You praying or practicing your professional face?”
“Brief the guys.”
“I did. Told them be respectful, don’t touch anything they aren’t supposed to, don’t flirt with the owner, and if they catch you staring, no they didn’t.”
I stared at him.
He bit into his sandwich. “That last part is leadership.”
“Move.”
He laughed and stepped back.
The front door unlocked before we reached it.
Celeste opened the door wearing black slacks, a cream blouse, and gold hoops brushing the sides of her neck.
Her locs were pulled over one shoulder, red and brown catching the morning light.
She looked tired around the eyes but not careless.
Put together. Her blouse followed every curve without begging for attention, which somehow made it worse.
My eyes started to move before my sense caught them.
Siah, focus.
I brought my gaze back to her face, and she caught me doing it. Her lashes lowered for half a second before she looked back up at me. A faint warmth touched her cheeks, and she shifted her weight like the doorway had suddenly gotten too narrow.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning. We’re a few minutes early.”
“That’s okay. I got here early too.”
“I figured.”
Her brows lifted. “You figured?”
“You seem like you beat worry to the building.”
She looked at me for a second, then laughed. It wasn’t much, but it reached her eyes before she could stop it. Juice looked away like he was giving us privacy and collecting evidence at the same time.
He stepped up beside me with a tool bag. “Morning, Ms. Celeste. I come in peace and employability.”
She smiled at him. “Good morning, Juice.”
“I like how you say that. Makes me sound like I got benefits.”
“You do have benefits,” I said.
“Because my gifts have made room.”
Celeste shook her head and opened the door wider. “Y’all can come in.”
I stepped past her, keeping enough space between us to remain respectful, but her scent still caught me. Vanilla, warm sugar, clean hair oil, something light beneath it. She smelled close, like a memory from a kitchen I’d never stood in.
I kept moving.
The first thing I noticed was the back row.
She’d cleared it before we arrived. Products moved.
Capes removed. Cords wrapped. Chairs pulled forward so we had space at the wall.
The front stations were ready for clients, towels stacked, tools arranged, the whole place prepared for a day no one had asked to be easy.
“You moved everything,” I said.
“I wanted y’all to be able to work.”
“That helps.”
She nodded, then glanced toward the back. “Starr comes in at nine. We moved what we could and rescheduled the clients who needed dryers.”
I opened the panel enough for her to see from a safe distance. “This is where the shop’s power splits off to different areas. I need to see what’s feeding the back row and what’s tied together that shouldn’t be.”
Celeste stepped beside me with her purple notebook pressed against her chest. “So, the dryers are pulling too much?”
“They’re pulling too much for the way this was set up,” I explained. “The dryers need their own circuit instead of sharing one with the back stations.”
“And the outlet by the shampoo bowls?”
“I’m removing it today. Once it’s out, I’ll know whether the heat stayed at the outlet or traveled into the wall.”
Her mouth tightened. “So we won’t really know how bad it is until you open it.”
“Exactly.”
“And you’ll show me what you find?”
“Pictures, explanations, and any change in price before I replace anything major.”
Her shoulders eased. “I can work with that.”
“I’ll make sure the front stations are safe so you can keep working. The back row stays down until the dryers have their own lane.”
She glanced toward the dark stations. “Their own lane.”
I smiled. “Exactly. Their own lane.”
“See? That makes sense.”
“I told you it would.”
“No,” she said, a small smile touching her mouth. “You told me you’d explain it. That’s different.”
“Then I’ll keep doing that.”
“Okay, Mr. Brooks. Show me what you need to show me.”
I handed her the paper with the initial notes. Our fingers brushed when she took it.
A quick thing. Nothing anybody across the room would’ve noticed. Still, it ran up my hand before I could stop it.
Celeste felt it too. She stilled for half a breath before pulling the paper to her chest. I slid my hand into my pocket before my body got any ideas.
Her phone buzzed on the counter before either of us could speak. Kayden’s name lit the screen. She glanced at me. “Excuse me.”
“Go ahead.”
She answered and turned a little away. “Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” She listened, then sighed through her nose. “No, I told you where the cereal is. Pantry, second shelf. Because if it was on the first shelf, Skye would eat it like communion.”
I looked down to hide my smile. Juice didn’t bother hiding his.
Celeste pressed two fingers to her temple. “And tell Skye if she puts syrup in her backpack again, I’m calling Nana.”
A pause. The business owner stepped back, and the mother took over. Her voice lowered, her shoulders eased, and something in her eyes went warmer than it had been a minute before.
“I love you too. Yes, I’ll text when my first client gets here. No, you do not need to come check the electrician.”
I looked toward Juice. He mouthed, protective. I turned away before I smiled.
Celeste ended the call and set the phone down. “Sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. Just morning ministry.”
“With five children, I imagine it starts early.”
“With five children, silence means sleep, sickness, or conspiracy.”
Juice laughed from the back. “Put that on a shirt.”
Celeste smiled, then looked at me. “Kayden is seventeen and currently believes he’s the man of my house.”
I understood that in a place I didn’t expect.
“I did something similar after Pops died. Everybody in the house started reaching for a job grief hadn’t assigned them, trying to make it easier on everyone else,” I stated, reminiscing.
Celeste’s smile faded, but she didn’t look away.
I hadn’t planned to say that much. Work usually kept my mouth where it belonged. But her eyes stayed on mine, listening.
“I started checking locks, taking out trash before Mama asked, fixing things that weren’t broken. I thought if I stayed useful enough, maybe the house wouldn’t feel what it lost.”
Her fingers loosened around the notebook.
I kept my voice low. “Took me a while to understand a child can help carry a house without trying to replace the person who’s gone.”
Her throat moved. She looked toward the front windows, then back at me.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to teach him.”
The salon seemed to fade around us. Celeste’s eyes stayed on mine, glossy but steady.
Don’t reach for what she hasn’t offered.
I stepped back first. Not because I didn’t feel it. Because I did.
“We’ll get started,” I said.
She blinked like she’d been pulled back into the room. “Okay.”
Work kept me honest.
For the next hour, we opened what needed opening, labeled circuits, removed the damaged outlet, and confirmed what I suspected.
Loose neutral. Heat damage. An overloaded run feeding equipment it never should’ve carried.
Somebody had made the old setup function, but functioning and safe weren’t the same thing.
Bad electrical work wasn’t just lazy. It was disrespectful. It gambled with people who didn’t know they were at the table. Every client who sat beneath a dryer in the back row had trusted the building to hold up its end of the bargain. Whoever patched this wiring together had failed them.
Celeste stayed near the front with her first client while Starr got settled. The shop woke up around us, music drifting through the speakers, coffee filling the air, and combs clicking against counters beneath the sound of my tools.
I watched Celeste work without making it obvious.
She was good. She remembered a client’s tender spot near the crown, another woman’s daughter’s recital, and whose mother was in the hospital. She carried those details as naturally as she parted hair.
When I glanced toward the front, I found her eyes already on me in the mirror. She held my gaze through the reflection for one beat before lowering hers to the comb in her hand.
Juice walked past with a toolbox. “Mirror ministry.”
“Work.”
“I am. Spiritually and professionally.”
“Juice.”
He kept walking, smiling like an idiot.
By late morning, I understood the shop better.
Celestial Crowns wasn’t just where women came to get their hair done.
They walked in carrying work, stress, family burdens, and jokes too loud for polite company.
Celeste offered advice when invited, silence when needed, and a final look in the mirror that made women taller before they left.
No wonder losing part of the shop hurt her.
A few hours later, I walked to the front to update her. She was finishing a loc style, her hands moving with a precise rhythm I could appreciate. I waited until she pinned the last gold cuff and stepped back.
“There,” she said. “Turn for me.”
The client looked into the mirror and covered her mouth. “Celeste.”
“You like it?”
“Girl, I look like I got peace and a tax refund.”
The front of the shop cracked up.
Celeste laughed too, and for a second, I forgot what I’d come over to say. Hearing it gave me a glimpse of the woman grief kept trying to interrupt.
Pretty Red.
I kept the name to myself.
When the client left, Celeste approached me with the edge of that laugh still on her face. “Sorry. You needed me?”
“Yes. We confirmed the loose neutral and heat damage. We can make the front safe today. Tomorrow, we’ll start separating the dryer circuit. The back row stays down until the new run is complete.”
“How many days?”
“If inspection cooperates, five working days. Seven if it doesn’t.”
Disappointment crossed her face before she made room for the next step. “Okay.”
“You can be disappointed.” Her eyes lifted to mine. “You don’t have to protect my feelings. It’s your shop.”
She gave me a small laugh. “I appreciate that.” Her gaze traveled across the salon. “It’s just a lot.”
“I know.” Not all of it. I wouldn’t pretend that. But I knew enough. “We’ll clean behind ourselves and warn you before the noise starts. If anything changes, you’ll hear it from me before you hear it from the wall.”
Her smile flickered. “Before I hear it from the wall?”
“Walls talk. Most people just don’t know the language.”
Something curious crossed her face.
Then she nodded. “I believe you.”
Trust from Celeste didn’t feel casual. It felt loaned.
I handed her the updated work order. Our fingers touched again, and neither of us moved right away.
Her eyes lifted to mine.
A client laughed near the shampoo bowls, breaking the moment before it became something neither of us had named.
Behind me, Juice dropped a tool.
“Wasn’t me.”
Starr called back, “Who else would it be?”
“Spiritual warfare.”
The client beneath Starr’s cape laughed so hard the fabric shook.
Celeste’s smile returned. I watched it for half a second too long before turning toward the open wall.
My job was the wiring. My job was the panel. My job was making sure the next woman who sat beneath a dryer in Celestial Crowns never had to wonder what was happening behind the wall.
Anything beyond that had to stay in its proper place.