14. Josiah
By Thursday afternoon, the back row of Celestial Crowns had stopped looking like a crisis and started looking like a business getting its breath back.
The walls were open in a few places, the scent of fresh drywall dust clung to the baseboards, and my crew had drop cloths folded into careful stacks near the shampoo bowls, but the dangerous part was over.
The damaged run had been pulled. The overloaded mess feeding those dryers like somebody had trusted electricity to respect wishful thinking was gone.
New, dedicated circuits sat in orderly rows at the panel, each breaker labeled, each run tested under load, each outlet seated with precision a client would never notice but a good electrician could feel in his hands.
I knew my hands could finish the work. My mind kept returning to the woman at the front of the shop, the woman whose trust had somehow felt more vulnerable than her skin.
That combination had me moving carefully in more ways than one.
I tightened the last screw on a receptacle cover and sat back on my heels.
The plate was straight, the wires were secure behind it, the outlet held under load, and there was no reason for me to stare at it the way I was.
Still, I stayed there for another second, letting my hands rest against my thighs while I fought the smile trying to betray me.
Juice noticed because minding his business had never been one of his gifts.
He glanced over from the dryer bank with the tester in his hand and a grin already doing too much on his face. “You been looking at that same outlet like it asked you what we are.”
“I’m inspecting my work.”
“You smiling at your work.”
I looked at him.
Juice pointed the tester toward the front. “Unless that outlet got locs down its back and a mouth that make your whole vocabulary slow down, you lying.”
“Finish testing.”
Juice checked the outlet, waited for the light, then nodded. “I am testing. Power good. Ground good. You, however, are in critical condition.”
“Justice.”
“What? I’m not judging. I’m observing. It’s a trade skill.”
“It’s being nosy.”
His grin eased, but it didn’t disappear. Juice never got serious all at once. He let the joke loosen the room first, then slid the truth in while a man was pretending not to listen. “It’s being family. I ain’t worried about you doing her dirty, Siah. That ain’t even the conversation.”
I wiped my hands on the towel at my hip and waited.
He looked toward the front, where Celeste was talking to Starr with her notebook tucked against her chest and relief sitting around her eyes.
“I’m looking at my cousin, who usually treats feelings like exposed wire, standing in this woman’s salon, smiling at outlet covers, and pretending it’s professionalism. ”
I fought a smile. Juice caught it anyway.
“There he go. Trying to keep that face together.”
“Say what you need to say.”
His voice lowered enough to stay between us. “I’m saying it’s good to see you like this. That Domonique mess had you moving like trusting somebody was bad math. You kept showing up for everybody else, but you stopped letting anything reach you too deep.”
That hit quieter than I expected.
Juice shrugged like he hadn’t just put his finger on something I usually kept buried beneath work, family, and routine.
“Now, here come Ms. Celeste with them pretty eyes, five kids, a whole salon, and grief sitting close enough for anybody with sense to respect it. And you ain’t running.
You ain’t playing cool either. You’re just standing here, looking steady and scared at the same time. ”
I looked toward her before I could stop myself.
Celeste laughed at something Starr said, and the sound moved through the shop without asking permission. It touched the back row. Touched me. Made me want to finish every wire in this building twice just so she never had to worry about what was hiding behind her walls again.
Juice’s shoulder bumped mine. “See? Critical condition.”
I shook my head. “You talk too much.”
“And you feel too much to be acting this calm.”
My jaw tightened, but there wasn’t any anger in it.
He knew me. That was all.
Juice lifted one brow. “You like her.”
I kept my eyes on the panel. “I do.”
Juice leaned closer, grinning again. “Nah. You said that too regular. Say it with your chest, Electric Slide.”
I cut my eyes at him. “Don’t call me that.”
“You like that woman.”
I let the silence stretch.
Then I looked toward Celeste again. She was smiling down at her notebook, one hand pressed lightly against the inspection folder like she needed to feel proof that the worst of it was over.
“I do. And I know what that means.”
Juice studied me for a second, then nodded. “That’s all I was checking.”
“Thought you were testing outlets.”
“I multitask. My gifts are numerous.”
I huffed a laugh.
He turned back toward the dryer bank. “Still smiling at hardware though. Hate to see a strong man fall.”
“Front outlets are holding,” Darnell called from station four.
I pushed to my feet and wiped my hands on the cloth tucked into my pocket. “Check them under load.”
Darnell answered from across the room. “Already did. Dryer pulls good. No heat. No flicker.”
“Run it again.”
Darnell looked toward Juice. “He always like this?”
Juice nodded with fake sorrow. “Worse when he cares.”
I looked between them. “I care about all my jobs.”
Juice made a sound full of disrespect. “Mm-hmm.”
I ignored him and crossed toward the panel.
The breakers sat in their proper places, everything seated and labeled in a way that gave my spirit room to rest. No double-tapped nonsense.
No burned insulation hiding behind the cover.
No guesswork waiting inside a wall for the worst possible day to reveal itself.
The thought pulled my gaze toward the front of the salon.
Celeste stood near the reception desk with a client under a cape, one hand resting on the woman’s shoulder while the other held her phone.
She looked up at me and smiled. Not the polite one she gave clients or the careful one she wore when she was trying to keep everybody comfortable. This one was smaller, warmer, and meant for me.
I lowered my gaze to the panel before somebody caught me looking at the owner like I had no employment papers or spiritual discipline.
Celeste said something to her client, then made her way toward the back with her purple notebook tucked against her chest. I looked down at the breakers like they’d suddenly become fascinating.
Lord, focus.
Juice saw her coming and immediately found something urgent to do on the other side of the room.
Coward.
Celeste stopped in front of me, and her eyes dropped briefly to my tool belt before returning to my face. “How’s it looking, Mr. Brooks?”
My body reacted to the title before my common sense could settle it down.
“It’s looking safe, Ms. Coleman.”
“Safe is good.”
“Safe is necessary.”
“And are we almost done?”
I glanced toward the back row so I wouldn’t keep staring at her mouth. “We are. We’re waiting on final inspection sign-off. I’ve tested the new runs, but I want the paperwork in your hand before I call it complete.”
She nodded, her professional face returning even though her eyes held the morning between us. “I appreciate that.”
“I know what this shop means to you.”
Her fingers tightened around the notebook.
I wanted to touch her, but this was her business. Respect mattered more than impulse.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You good?”
I looked at her.
I brushed my fingers over hers where they rested against the notebook, brief enough for public and deliberate enough for her to understand. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I smiled because she had no idea how much she sounded like me now. “I’m sure.”
A little warmth moved into her cheeks. “I made coffee in the break room. I know y’all have been here all day.”
“Thank you.”
“And I ordered sandwiches too.”
I lifted a brow. “For the crew?”
She looked down at the notebook, but the smile stayed on her mouth. “For the crew. And you.”
“Taking care of me, Ms. Coleman?”
Her eyes came back up, and this time, there was trouble in them. “Somebody probably should.”
Heat moved through my chest so fast I had to look away from her mouth.
Juice yelled from the back. “I don’t know what y’all whispering about, but I’m hungry and morally opposed to waiting.”
Celeste laughed, and I looked back at her.
She tipped her head toward the break room. “Come eat.”
“I need to check the panel one more time.”
“Josiah.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
Celeste lifted her brows. “Food. Now.”
I leaned down slightly so only she could hear me. “You bossy when you care.”
Her eyes warmed. “No. You listen because you’re scared of me. And you listen when I use your whole name.”
Celeste turned away with that pretty little victory sitting at the corner of her mouth.
I watched her walk away and felt my mouth pull into a grin before I could stop it.
Juice appeared beside me like foolishness had received a personal invitation. “You are gone.”
“Move.”
“You heard what I said?”
“I heard you breathing too loud.”
“That woman told you food, now, and your whole spirit almost saluted.”
“I respect instructions.”
“You respect hips.” I looked at him. Juice held up both hands. “And leadership. I was clearly about to say leadership.”
“You better.”
He laughed and walked away, pleased with himself.
I checked the panel again because if I stood there watching Celeste too long, everybody in the salon was going to know I’d lost my mind before I was ready to make any official announcement.
The inspector arrived twenty minutes after we ate, a short woman named Ms. Kinley, who looked like she’d been unimpressed since birth and had no intention of retiring from it.
I liked her immediately. She checked the permit, the panel, the new outlets, the dryer load, the wire gauge, and the labeling.
She asked three questions with no wasted breath, watched me answer them without guessing, then glanced toward the front where Celeste was pretending not to hover.
Ms. Kinley asked, “This your company?”