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“This isn’t from my colorist. I was the perfect shade of light blonde without being bleached.”
Genevieve takes an index card out of her pocket. “Yes, straight bleach was all she used. Your hair must lift nicely on its own because she didn’t use toner. The new place must have used a toner and left it on too long, and then you went into a spiral of trying to fix the mess.”
I stare at the card through the mirror. With a twist, I take it from her hand and read the handwriting on it. “This is Maisie’s. How did you get it?”
“From Will. He said he got it from your old salon.”
“Will went to my old salon and got my color card?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Surprised he didn’t tell you.” She crosses her arms in front of her body. “Have you known each other long?”
I swivel my chair in her direction and lay it on her straight. “If you’re inferring that Will and I—”
“Listen, the last thing I’m gonna do is gossip about my friend. All I’ll say is, things have been dramatic in the world of William lately, so when he called with a favor, I was glad to help. The man has been getting mentally beaten up by everyone in his life, especially his mother. The less I know, the better.”
“I promise there is nothing to know. We’re just friends, if you can even call us that. I’m still on the fence on if I think he’s a really good guy or a moderately deranged.”
“How did you meet?”
“He helped me out when I was trying to drunkenly get back at my ex.”
“Badass. I can appreciate that, and I do love a good story. So … how about you tell me about it while I get you looking like you again?”
“Please!”
For seven years, I considered Maisie Mirlicourtois to be the hair goddess who gave me a golden glow. Today, Genevieve has taken that title.
Light-blonde hair with highlights that shimmer. The color of my hair makes me appear brighter, happier, and shall I say … sexier?
After singing her praises and realizing the time is way later than I thought, I bid Genevieve good-bye, and I scurry toward the front of the salon, snaking my phone out of my purse and looking for Will’s number. I’m just about to hit Send when I approach the reception desk and see him standing in a waiting room, surrounded by women’s magazines and bottles of beauty products.
He’s looking down at his cell phone and laughing. I peer over and see what he’s watching.
“Family Feudreels?”
Will fumbles with his phone and stands up straight. As he does so, his expression morphs from relaxed to a more serious gaze. His lips part as he lifts his chin. Those eyes roam over my face, and then his brows lift, and his mouth curves in appreciation.
“Wow. You look incredible.”
I do a little spin for dramatic flair. “Your friend is a genius. I am now praying at the hair coloring altar of Genevieve for the rest of my life. But first, I have to pay, and you need to get me home because my kids need to be picked up, and I was not planning on this taking so long.”
“Let’s go then.” He nods toward the door.
I motion for the receptionist. “I have to pay.”
The receptionist looks at my credit card in hand, and waves me off. “Your boyfriend took care of it already.”
I turn to Will with a frown as he places a hand on my shoulder and motions me toward the door.
“We have to pick up your kids.”
“You can’t pay for me!”
“Not the place to argue, and you don’t have the time.” He holds my coat out for me.
I growl and then do an about-face as I take two twenties and a ten out of my wallet and lay it on the counter. “Please get that to Genevieve and the ten to her assistant and saythank you from Melissa.”
As I walk out of the salon—well, more like be strongly guided toward his truck—I’m still talking as Will opens the passenger door, and I slide in.
