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“Thanks,” he says with sincerity. “Now, down to business. You got any friends or family you can stay with? Hell, even a plan for what you’re going to do now?”
I cringe, knowing he won’t like my answer. “No. I have no one. No job, no money, no car, nothing,” I sigh. “I thought I had a suitcase filled with clothes until I left it on that storefront with that asshole.”
Micky considers me for a moment before coming to some sort of decision, determination and sincerity in his stare. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he starts in a gruff tone. “I have an apartment upstairs that I crash in every now and then. Consider it yours. You’ll work in the bar each night and you can start paying rent in a few weeks when you’re back on your feet.”
I gasp, my eyes widening in surprise. “What? I couldn’t possibly put you out like that,” I say. I desperately want to take him up on the offer, but it’s too kind. I couldn’t take advantage of his hospitality like that, especially since he already saved my ass once. Asking for more would be nothing but greedy.
“You can and you will,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “Now, shut up and listen to what’s going to happen.”
I swallow my refusals and nod as Micky continues. “For the next week, I’ll get my daughter to come in and train you on everything you need to know about being behind a bar. Layla is a star, she’ll have you owning this place in no time. But I’m assuming serving drinks for the rest of your life isn’t particularly your dream?” he asks.
“Well, no. I’ve always dreamed of owning my own hair salon,” I tell him bashfully, never having actually said those words out loud. But what’s the point in holding back? This is my fresh start, my opportunity to try and make something of myself.
“Hmm, that’s manageable,” he says, dragging his hand over his beard, deep in thought. “Have you started studying for that?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’ve never had the chance to study. I was pulled out of school at fifteen to work for my stepmom’s cleaning business so she could stay home and drink.”
Micky lets out a sympathetic sigh then reaches out a hand and gently squeezes my shoulder. “That’s going to change real soon, Charli,” he tells me, and looking into his eyes, I want to trust him. “We’ll get you enrolled in classes in the morning.”
My jaw hangs open before reality douses my hopes and dreams in gasoline, lighting that bitch up like a bonfire. “That sounds great and all, but how the hell am I going to afford beauty school?”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll sort it out. You can pay me back through your wages,” Micky suggests.
“I can’t,” I say with a shake of my head. “Thank you for offering, but it’s too much. I can’t ask that of you. You don’t even know me.”
Micky is thoughtful for a moment, both hands resting against his bar when his eyes light up like fireworks, almost as if a lightbulb has gone off in his head. “Have you ever heard of a traineeship?” he asks.
I look at him blankly, completely confused. “Um . . . no.”
He lets out a small chuckle. “I had a feeling,” he says with a smirk. “It’s where you would go to work in a hair salon every day, and the senior hairdresser—or whatever the hell they call themselves—will train you. So, you will get paid to learn while the salon gets an extra set of hands.”
“Seriously?” I ask in shock. I’ve never heard of such a thing.
“Yeah. I’m sure it’s a little more technical than that, but leave it with me. I’ll look into it in the morning. For now, you should get upstairs and get settled. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
What the hell? Is this man an angel sent to earth to rescue me? I mean, maybe he is Santa Claus. It’s not Christmas, but perhaps good old St. Nick has a side hustle of saving damsels in distress. “Why are you doing all this for me? You barely know me.”
“One day, when you have kids, you’ll understand,” he explains, a fondness in his deep eyes. “And I hope to God, if my daughter was ever in this situation, there would be someone out there who would look out for her.”
Tears begin welling in my eyes again, and I fight them back, having already cried enough for one night. It’s time to start living. “Thank you, Micky,” I say, letting him see just how appreciative I am of his help.
“Alright,” he says. “Enough of that. I’ll show you upstairs. I think Layla has some clothes up there you could borrow until you can get some of your own. I think she’s roughly the same size as you,” he adds as he walks out from behind the bar and gestures for me to follow him. “I’ll show you the way.”
