The hot towel hits the back of my neck and I make a sound that I haven't made in years.
"Oh myGod."
Debbie grins at me in the mirror, her blonde hair and hot pink highlights catching the Hollywood-vanity lighting that lines every station inside the salon.
"Yep. That's what they all say, honey."
I sink deeper into the styling chair, letting the heat radiate down through my shoulders and into parts of my body that haven't unclenched since I gave birth ten years ago.
The entire salon smells like a spa had a baby with a candy store. Warm vanilla from the candles, sharp mint from the scalp treatment Debbie used on me an hour ago.
I can still taste the subtle sweetness of the champagne Debbie cracked open within three minutes of me walking through the door.
Not the regular champagne. Thesecretchampagne Colt mentioned.
I'm on my second glass now, and Debbie lifts the towel, running her fingers through my freshly trimmed hair, fanning it across my shoulders.
"Well?" She tilts her head, studying me in the mirror. "What do you think?"
I stare at my reflection.
She didn't do anything dramatic. Just cleaned up the ends, added some layers that make my hair fall in a way it hasn't in years, and… Okay, the blowout might be a little dramatic, but in the best possible way.
My hair is actuallyshining.
And not the greasy ponytail shine I've been rocking for a decade.
"Wow.I look like a person," I say, genuinely stunned.
"Honey, you lookgorgeous." Debbie squeezes my shoulders and smiles. "Now, what are we doing with those nails?"
She helps me toward the manicure station, and I settle into the plush chair, extending my hands across the padded rest.
Debbie takes one look at my fingers and purses her lips.
"Lord have mercy. These cuticles have been through awar."
"I knead dough for a living, Debbie. My nails aren't exactly a priority."
"Well, they are tonight." She starts working, filing and buffing while I try to remember the last time anyone touched my hands for a reason that wasn't handing me change.
I lean back, watching her work. "Don't be too fussy, okay? They'll only have dough dried beneath them by tomorrow morning."
Debbie shakes her head.
"Absolutely not. I'm giving you a shimmer. It's called 'Barely There Blush.' It will give you the kind of nails that say'I have my life together.'"
"So, false advertising."
"Thebestkind of false advertising." She winks at me over her bright pink glasses. "You know, half the women in this town would kill for a full treatment evening at my station. Most of them have to book three months in advance for this, you know."
"And yet I didn't even book this.".
"Exactly. Colt Lanearrangedthis," she says, way too casually. "And that, sweetheart, is something else the women in this town would kill for."
I shift in my chair. "It's not — he's just the Leopards ambassador. For the partnership thing. He's just being nice."
"Mmhmm." Debbie hums a sound of disbelief and returns to my cuticles.
