AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hopefully, if I’m waiting by the door when she comes into work, she’ll be able to fit me in.
I resent Darcy’s snotty attitude about personal appearance and have a deeply held belief that people should wear what makes them feel comfortable and confident and screw what anyone else thinks, but I admit that I haven’t made much of an effort in, say…five or six years.
Maybe longer.
Leon was a woodworker like me and we both preferred stew fresh from the campfire after a day of hiking to a fancy dinner out. Not that there was anywhere “fancy” to eat in my hometown, but we did have a diner and a taco truck that showed up at the farmers’ market most Sunday afternoons.
On my way by the hydrangea, I get that same weird feeling, but another check beneath the blossoms reveals nothing but the same chubby spider—now perched on a different patch of web—and a couple of struggling flies.
“Wish me luck, mama spider,” I whisper to the arachnid, figuring the flies have enough to worry about without being bothered by other people’s problems.
Downtown, I pause in front of a few shop windows on my way to the salon. But the 1950s style dresses at one boutique and the oversized knits at another are way out of my price range. And I’m not sure any of the clothing on offer would accentuate my “natural beauty.”
I’m not even sure what my “natural beauty” is aside from good hair and lips I’ve always been pleased with. They’re plump, but not too full, with a heart shape that’s pretty cute. And though my other parts may be average, the elements combine to present a pleasing picture. At least, I’ve never had any complaints from other men.
If Darcy were any other guy who wanted to bone me but bitch about the way I look at the same time, I’d tell him to buy a one-way ticket to Never-Getting-This-Pussy-Ville and that would be that. But this isn’t about Darcy. This is about Annie, and I will do just about anything for my sister.
Including having innocent hairs yanked out by the root and attempting to corral my ragged cuticles.
I arrive at the salon just as Sally is sliding her key in the door. She breaks into a big grin when she sees me, “Did you come to take pictures of the shelves for your website?” she asks. “They are so gorgeous.”
“Um, no, but I should do that. And make a website while I’m at it.” I swallow and scratch the back of my neck, suddenly awkward now that I’m standing in front of this absolute goddess of a human. With jet black hair to her waist, a perfect hourglass figure, and a face a World War II pinup would kill for, Sally is clearly in the right profession.
But surely, in all her years of tending to the women of this very unique town, she’s had requests weirder than mine. So, I clear my throat and add, “I was actually hoping that I might be able to grab an appointment this morning. For an eyebrow wax, a manicure, and just some general…de-goblin-ification.”
She lets out a peel of laughter. “Oh, honey, you are far from a goblin, but you are funny,” she says, that faint hint of a Southern accent I noticed yesterday once again audible as she opens the door. “But yes, I have my entire morning free aside from a root touch up at ten. And I can tag team your color with hers so neither of you has to wait.”
“Color?” I ask, hesitating just inside the door.
“Yes,” Sally says, her blue eyes dancing as she hurries around the front counter to drop her purse and bag in a cubby. “We’re going to do color and a cut and nails and waxing and a full-body sugar scrub if we have time. And it’s all on me.” I start to protest, but she waves me off before I can do more than sputter a little, “You undercharged me for those shelves. I felt bad about it all night. I was actually going to call you this morning and ask to pay extra, so this is perfect.” She lifts her gaze to the bright yellow ceiling and blows it a kiss, “Thank you goddess. Taking care of me like always.”
“My mom talked to the goddess all the time, too,” I say. “But you’re not a witch, right? Sorry if it’s rude to ask.”
“No, not rude at all.” She’s still beaming warmly as she circles back around the check-out counter and leads me toward the rear of the salon. “I’m a succubus. Like a vampire, but we feed on sexual energy.” She lifts a hand, her fingers spread. “But always consensually. I don’t need the bad karma from that other stuff, and my mama raised me better than that.” She winks as she stops beside the last chair on the right side of the shop. “Besides, you know how it is with men. You can warn them ten times to Sunday that they’re going to feel a little drained tomorrow if they spend the night, but they’ll still race you to the bedroom. Poor things can’t help themselves.”
“Um, yeah.” My fingers tangle nervously together in front of me as she fetches a smock from the cabinet beside her station. “I mean, no. I actually don’t have a ton of experience with men. At least not traditional men. And I have zero experience with being a pretty princess. So, whatever you do to me, it would be great it if was something easy for me to maintain.”
She motions toward her salon chair. “Of course, honey. No worries. I’m going to make you shine so bright whatever man you’ve got your eye on won’t know what hit him.”
A tight laugh squeezes from my throat. “Who said there was a man?”
Sally meets my gaze in the mirror with a wink. “There’s always a man.” She arches a brow. “Or a woman. No judgement here either way.”
“It’s a man,” I mumble as I slide into the seat, making her chuckle.
“Nice.” She whisks a drape around my neck. “We’ve got a few good ones. But I’d warn against moving too fast. Best to make sure he’s The One before you make a move. Nightfall is like every other small town. There are only about five eligible men at a given time, and once you date one of them it can get weird to date the others. A lot of territorial types.” She sighs as she collects a comb from the small rolling table beside her and surveys my explosion of curls. “Which is understandable, I guess, considering all the apex predators around here, but still...it’s the twenty-first century. It wouldn’t kill these guys to do a little more charming their lady and a little less running around peeing on things they’ve decided belong to them.”
I debate my next question, but in the end decide I’m better safe than sorry. “They don’t literally pee on people, do they? Because I’m not into that. At all.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, sister, you and me both. And no, not literally. At least most of the time, but with a wolf shifter, you never know.” She winks. “Sometimes puppies get excited.”
I narrow my eyes on hers in the reflection. “You’re teasing me.”
Her smile widens. “I am. And I think we’re going to be friends.”
I return the smile. “Yeah. Me, too.”
Forty-five minutes later my highlight foils are in and I’m baking under a heat lamp while Sally does damage control on my nails. After a brief break to color her other client’s roots, Sally washes my hair and snips my curls into a fun layered shape that makes me look much less like a stick person with a floofy lollipop head. Not long after, the other stylist, Becca, arrives and Sally puts her to work on my pedicure while Sally cuts and dries the other woman, a harpy with glorious lavender locks to her waist.
