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“Just keep an eye on what styling tool she reaches for. Don’t let her pull a Britney Spears on you by using a razor instead of shears.”
“Oh my God, why did you have to say that?” Dread ribboned through her. She dropped the unopened envelope on the dresser and rushed over to her desk to retrieve her purse and the keys to the boutique. “To top it off, I’m late.”
Liza preceded her to the door. “I don’t envy you the afternoon you’re going to have. But keep your chin up and don’t let her pull a fast one on you.”
Shaking her head, Ginger mumbled, “I just had to go and fall for her nephew, didn’t I?”
She locked the door and walked with Liza to the salon.
“Hang in there,” her friend said with a supportive hug before she returned to the flower shop.
Sucking in a deep breath and shoring up her defenses, a very hesitant Ginger Monroe stepped into the lion’s den.
“Well, there you are,” Lydia said as she stowed a broom behind the tall shelving unit that displayed hair products on sale. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to leave my chair empty this afternoon.”
“Of course not,” Ginger said. “Sorry I’m late. I had some…business to take care of.”
“Mm-hmm. I saw the flowers.”
Lydia turned away and Ginger followed her over to the shampoo station.
Handing over a button-up smock in daisy yellow, Lydia continued. “I suspected that arrangement was for you. You don’t see such an ostentatious presentation on our streets every day. My nephew has clearly developed extravagant taste.”
Ginger had a feeling Lydia wasn’t only referring to the bouquet. She said, “I don’t believe he has extravagant taste. In fact, he’s very down to earth. I just think he likes to make a statement.”
She had to fight back the smile that tickled her lips over the beautiful flowers and the mere thought of Ryan. Settling into an ultra-cushy chair in front of one of the sinks, she let Lydia gather up her hair so Ginger could rest her bare neck in the dip in the porcelain. Lydia dropped the mass of curls in the sink and began to rinse and wash. Neither spoke as Lydia finished with the conditioner and rinsed again. She wrapped a towel around Ginger’s head and they moved to Lydia’s chair in front of a large mirror, framed with mahogany.
Ginger noted there were no other customers in the salon, which was odd. Lydia had part-time stylists who worked the two additional stations, but the woman could also juggle three or four customers at a time all by herself, she was so handy with her combs, scissors and hair color. And she knew how to schedule her clients so she could attend to them in various stages of cutting, highlighting and drying.
So Ginger found it curious they were alone in the shop. And it unnerved her—for good reason.
Lydia jumped right in with a chastising, “I find it difficult to believe the two of you could be so serious about each other so quickly. What on earth could you possibly have in common with Ryan?”
Ginger considered this a moment as Lydia towel-dried her hair and then gently combed the long tresses. Finally, she said, “We have history and shared memories, for one thing. We did grow up together and were very good friends in high school.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but you don’t forget those times and they create a bond. Plus,” Ginger added—not that it was any of Lydia’s business, but she wanted to set the record straight where she and Ryan were concerned, “we both lost our parents at a young age. We can empathize with each other. Ryan even knows how difficult it is for me to be around guns because of my mother’s death and—”
Her gaze met Lydia’s in the mirror as a peculiar—and highly distressing—thought occurred to her.
The dread she’d felt earlier returned. “Aren’t I just the biggest hypocrite in Wilder?” she muttered to herself.
Lydia’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” she asked as she began to snip with the scissors.
Ginger’s heart sank right along with her spirits. Being completely honest with Lydia, she said, “I’m doing to Ryan what you do to me.”
With a frown, Lydia said, “I’m sure I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, I’m pushing my own convictions onto someone when they’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t want Ryan’s gun in my house. I don’t want him carrying it, either. Even though it’s part of his job and could save his life. I don’t like it and I’m forcing him to follow my personal opinion and belief, despite the fact he could end up in a dangerous situation without the proper weapon because I don’t like it.”
Lydia’s frown disappeared and a more thoughtful, quizzical look crossed her face as she continued to trim Ginger’s hair. “Explain that a little further, will you?”
“It’s really quite simple. You don’t like my lingerie because it doesn’t suit your taste and because you have a preconceived notion about it. So you harass me on a regular basis about putting my nightgowns on the street, when I’m just trying to entice customers so I stay in business. Regardless of your personal preference, Lydia, there are plenty of women in Wilder who like satin nighties and lacy panties and bras.”
“Well, they’re just so inappropriate.”
“How would you know?” Ginger suddenly challenged. “You never even look at them. You just assume everything’s indecent and sinful, and I assure you, that is not the case.”
