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Peter dramatically brings a manicured hand to his chest, his nails painted a glossy black. “You got married? All the girls are going to be devastated.” He winks when he adds, “And some of the guys too.”
Now it’s my turn to blush.
Thankfully, Amber moves in front of me, sticking her hand out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
He shakes her hand. “Likewise. My name is Peter by the way. Let’s take this party over to my station, and I’ll start on Ford’s hair.”
Amber chuckles. “You’re right, by the way. He really does have great hair.”
What? Amber likes my hair? This is news to me. It’s just hair, but I’m here for anything she likes about me. She can run her fingers through my hair all she likes.
“I’m a hair stylist too,” she adds. “I always appreciate great hair.”
Peter’s eyes widen as he pressed down on my shoulders, prompting me to sit in the spinny chair. “Ahh, I should’ve known from the pink tips. Super cute.”
“Thank you.” She smiles. “I just moved here, and I’m looking for a booth to rent. Is the salon owner here by chance?” Her tone is very professional, but the effect is shattered when Nella releases a loud wail. Amber unbuckles the baby carrier and turns her to face-out so she can see Peter and me. She calms down immediately, like she simply wanted to be a part of the conversation. “Is that better, baby girl?” Amber asks her before turning her focus back to Peter. “Sorry about that.”
Peter takes a fresh, black cape out of a drawer at his station, swivels the chair so I’m facing the floor length mirror in front of us, and drapes the cape around my neck. He combs his fingers through my hair as he surveys Amber and Nella.
“Are you kidding? She’s such a doll. Definitely your little twin.” Amber’s face softens at his complement. “I guess she didn’t get any of daddy’s features, hmm?” He leans over so I can see his face.
My mouth opens and closes like some kind of fish begging to be thrown back into the water. Peter changes the subject quickly, not because he notices my discomfort, but because he always talks really fast. “Our owner is out today, but I’d be happy to leave your name and number for her,” Peter adds, grabbing a water bottle and spritzing my hair.
“That would be perfect!” Amber’s eyes widen, and she looks so excited. I hope it works out for her to rent a booth here. “Would you mind holding her for a second while I grab a pen?” She asks me.
I open my mouth to answer, but Peter beats me to it. “Girl! You don’t have to ask your baby daddy to hold his own kid.”
I offer Amber an apologetic smirk, and she rolls her lips, trying not to laugh. Nella is hoisted into my arms, and she kicks happily in my lap. Peter continues wetting and combing my hair, not starting the cut yet, probably so he doesn’t cover Nella in hair.
Amber finds a pencil and a pink notepad and neatly writes her name and number on it, leaving it on Peter’s station before reaching for Nella again. She fusses when I hand her back to her mother, which makes me smile. Does it make me a mean person that I think it’s cool Nella wants me instead of Amber to hold her?
I don’t know, but it makes me feel a little special.
As soon as Nella is out of the way, Peter gets out the clippers, snaps on a number four guard, and starts the fade on my sides. Peter gives good, no-nonsense haircuts, with zero razzle-dazzle. And that’s why I keep coming back to him. He strikes me as a person who loves the razzle-dazzle but can tell when his clients don’t. He also doesn’t try to give me any steamed towels or shoulder massages like some of the other stylists I tried.
I close my eyes and let him work. He quickly finishes the sides, back and neck, then pulls out his scissors for the hair on top of my head. Noticing the girls are quiet, I open one eyelid and peer at them. Nella is watching Peter’s ministrations, her drool-covered lips open. Amber is watching the chunks of my hair slide down the cape, her pretty mouth turned down.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
AMBER
“You really do like my hair?” Ford asks.
My eyes snap up to meet his, not realizing he was watching me as I mourned each snip of those gorgeous locks that rested on his brow. His shiny brown eyes look directly into mine, so curious.
I smile slightly, hoping he won’t notice I’m a little embarrassed that he caught me staring. “It’s just so thick and shiny. You don’t realize how envious girls are of it. And you cut it all off and keep it short. It’s a pity, but I get it. I know how you hate it to touch your ears.”
Ford shrugs, earning a glare from Peter. “Please hold still or I’ll accidentally get your ear.”
Ford snorts a laugh, then his eyes meet mine again. “All these years I’ve been marveling at your vibrant red hair, just for you to be doing the same to my boring brown.”
My body warms. Memories of all Ford’s comments about my hair over the years make me feel a little lighter. Ford was the first one who admired my hair, especially after hearing all of my mother’s demeaning comments about how unfortunate it was that I was a ginger, taking after my scumbag of a father—her words, not mine.
But Ford’s fascination with my hair color when we were kids, and his few but very honest compliments of the color, made me fall in love with having red hair. Made me realize how unique it was. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at my hair.
And now here I was, staring at his. Wishing I was the one giving the haircut, feeling the thick, smooth strands floating through my hands. Soaking in the warmth of his skin as my fingers ran along his neck, over his ears, and through his hair. When a shiver runs down my spine, I grit my teeth. What the hell, Amber? Don’t be weird. You’re becoming just like every other woman on the planet having fantasies about Ford Remington…your best friend. Your only friend.
