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“You ready?” she asks.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
Chapter Ten
Ben
Kasey leadsme over to her station and gestures for me to take a seat in her chair. When I relax down in the seat, I take in her set-up. There’s the various styling tools laid out, as well as hair products, most of which I wouldn’t have a clue what they’re for. Adhered to the mirror is a copy of what looks like her cosmetology license, and several pictures of Luna. One is a professional photo of her in her jersey with a basketball tucked under her arm and a hand planted on her hip. The photo would screamsassif it weren’t for her bright smile revealing a missing front tooth and crinkled eyes, as if the photographer had said something to make her giggle. In another picture, she appears to be hamming it up in a living room in a tutu, pigtails, and sunglasses. But the picture that really grabs my attention is the one of them together. Both Kasey and Luna are lying on a picnic blanket in the grass on their stomachs and facing the camera. They each have an ice cream cone and are making goofy faces at the camera. Kasey is cross-eyed with her tongue out, while Luna’s eyes are as wide as she could get them while her own tongue sticks out the side of her mouth, trying to awkwardly lick at her ice cream. I get a warm feeling in my chest, and it’s when Kasey drapes a thin black smock over me that I realize I was not only staring at it, but when I look to my reflection, I’m wearing a faint, but genuine smile.
“So what are we thinking?” Kasey initiates, seemingly oblivious to the trance the photo of her and her daughter put me in for a moment.
“Well, uh…” I start to answer her, and before I know it, her delicate fingers are in my hair, gently ruffling the strands. A quick look to the mirror shows me she’s looking intently at what she’s working with; assessing what she’s going to do with it. She’s in work mode, but still, the touch sends a thrill down my spine, inwardly startling me. But once the initial shock wears off, it feels nice. Soothing. For the first time in a long time, a woman is touching me; a woman that isn’t Jamie. And while my brain knows there’s nothing to feel guilty for here for enjoying it, my heart is still confused as all hell; especially when she stops and I instantly miss it. I have to mentally nudge myself out of my stupor and realize she’s smiling down at me, patiently but expectantly.
“I guess… I’m just ready to get it out of my eyes and off my neck.”
“Okay,” she nods with bright enthusiasm in her eyes that’s impossible not to adore. How the hell is this person I scarcely know bringing all of these perceptions and emotive reactions out of me? “Is there a particular style you’re after? Do you want me to leave you some length on top, or just shear you like a sheep?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“Okay, that might be a little extreme,” I respond to her latter suggestion as I meet her eyes in the mirror. “But I’m not sure exactly what I want, so I’ll just trust you on this one.”
“Okay,” she giggles on a breath and swiftly picks up a spray bottle from the countertop. She holds her hand in front of my eyes as she starts to spritz my hair. The cool droplets of water give me another round of chills as they land and trickle down my scalp. When my hair is dampened to her satisfaction, she snatches up a black comb and a shiny set of silver scissors.
Here we go.
After she combs out a few sections of my hair she takes one between two fingers, and with her brows stitched together in concentration, she makes the first snip. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, and let her go to town, maneuvering around me as she combs and snips, totally in her element. While she’s clearly in the zone, I allow myself to take in her toned arms, courtesy of the sleeveless shirt she’s wearing, which I can tell would be showing me just a hint of cleavage if not for the apron she’s wearing.
Only a few moments go by where my focus shifts from her lovely looks, to the rosy scent her closeness brings, to her confident technique and back to the mirror again, before she finally decides to make conversation.
“So you’ve been in town for almost a week. Any idea how much longer you’ll be here?”
“No, not really,” I sigh as I watch damp clusters of my brown hair fall and cling to the smock. “It’s a really long trip from Indonesia. I’m not quite ready to go through it again just yet.”
“Any idea what you’ll do while you’re here?”
I instinctually clench my fists under the smock, a habit I’ve developed over the years when people ask me more than one question about myself in a row. I glance up to the mirror again and take in her face. Her eyes meet mine, questioning, but not intrusive, and there’s the slightest hint of encouragement in her smile that sends a jolting tingle through my body, making me realize she’s just a normal human being trying to be conversational and polite. One that has obviously had struggles of her own, I assume, as she’s been a single mother for nine years, yet she still gets up every day, takes care of her daughter, and tries to be nice to other people for fuck’s sake. If she can do all that, I can make a small effort.
“I don’t know, really,” I answer her, relaxing my muscles and letting out a breath. “Just laying low I guess. I figure I’ll know when I’m ready to head back.”
She nods in understanding as she picks up some electric clippers.
“You’re kind of a loner, I take it?” she enquires with a quirky smile as she turns them on, and a soft buzzing joins in the current soundtrack of pop music playing on the speakers, hair dryers, and mostly lady chatter.
I can’t help the smirk that pulls one side of my mouth up.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Loner is better than the words Melanie chooses to describe me.
“I’ve never been to Indonesia, but it sounds really beautiful,” she muses as her eyes narrow at the task of lifting a strand of my hair with her comb and slowly taking the ends off of it with the clippers.
“It is,” I nod and continue to watch her in the mirror for moment. “Have you traveled anywhere exciting?”
“No,” she scoffs, but still smiles as she continues to trim, and her fingers moving through my hair, along with the drone of the clippers, is starting to feel relaxing. “Just Arizona to visit my parents, but I’ve never been anywhere else.”
I give a slight nod, trying not to move my head too much while she’s working. As my eyes drift back to that captivating photo, I remember she had Luna at a young age and struggled to support them both for a long time. From there, I look to Kasey’s wrist as she continues to work around me and focus on the bracelet with the shooting star charm. She really must never take that off.
“Luna seems like a great kid,” I observe, and my intentions are two-fold: changing the subject and removing the bummed look from Kasey’s face so I can watch her light up again. Both work. That glow comes back, and her blue eyes crinkle at the corners.
“She is,” she nods. “She has her days where I’m pretty sure she’s trying to make my head explode, like any kid, but apart from those, she’s pretty awesome.”
“Prettybomb?” I ask, attempting a playful jab by referring to her word choice the other night and she chuckles.
