Page 53 of An Uphill Battle

And today’s not any better. No, if anything, it’s worse. My mind is moving at warp speed through a million different scenarios.What if Drake just laughed at my letter? Maybe I should’ve asked him to meet me sooner. What if he doesn’t show? Or whatif...

It’s endless, and aside from playing with Cash’s nephews on Tuesday, my only reprieve has been going to work or sleeping, and since I decided to only open for partial days, I’ve been doing a lot ofsleeping.

Extra sleep or not, I’m still dragging ass this morning. I stumble through my morning routine, skimming it down to only the basics—messy bun, concealer, and ChapStick—before heading out the door in search of more caffeine, which is a double-edged sword if there ever was one. I’m already a hot mess from nerves. Add caffeine, and good Lord, I’ll be a jittery, tremblingnightmare.

I pop into Dream Beans before heading into work, ordering the biggest iced latte they have. The first sip hits my tongue, and I sigh. It’s so, so good and just what I need to make it through theday.

Myla Rose’s client, Mrs. Keeler, is my final client for the day, and she breezes in at a quarter to four. “Happy almost New Year’s, Azalea dear. Listen, is there any way at all we could add on a glaze today? My hair is just dull and humdrum, and you know how these busybody housewives are. If I don’t look my best, they’ll start circling my Harold, and that just won’tdo.”

It takes everything in me not to laugh at sweet Mrs. Keeler. God bless her. Her husband, Harold, is well into his sixties and sort of resembles a beardless Santa Claus—AKA, no housewives will be circling. But if it makes her feel better, who am I to deny her? “Of course. Head on back and change into a smock, and I’ll meet you at the shampoobowl.”

I dampen and pre-treat Mrs. Keeler’s hair before applying the glaze. Once her hair is completely saturated, I cap her and sit her under the dryer. “I have my timer set for twenty minutes. Would you like a drink or a magazine?” I askher.

“I would love some water, and no, thank you to the magazine. I have my Kindle handy and a date with a sexy Irish bartender who’s full ofTroubles.” This time, I do laugh at her, but only because I know exactly which book she’s talking about, as I read it recently aswell.

“Yes, ma’am. Enjoy that Aidan,” I tell her as I walk to the dispensary to get her a bottle of water. I’m bent over the fridge when I hear the bell on the front door chime. “Who the hell could that be?” I mumble as I straighten up and head back to Mrs.Keeler.

I scan the salon but don’t see anyone. “Must’ve been the wind,” I mutter to myself. “Here ya go. You have about eighteen minutes left. Holler if you need me,” I tell her before walking toward the frontdesk.

My steps come to a stumbling halt when I hear voices coming from our waiting room. Cautiously, I peek around the partition that separates the two areas of the salon, only to catch sight of the last two people I want to see,ever.What in the hell aretheydoinghere?

Schooling my features into a mask of professionalism, I round the partition and greet them, my voice stiff and robotic. “Good evening, ladies. We’re not currently open forappointments.”

The two women stare at me for a few seconds, the silence stretching out uncomfortably, until Kelly finally speaks. “Not a problem, seein’ as we’re not here to get our hairdone.”

My hackles immediately rise, right along with the hair on the back of my neck. “But we’re not here to cause any trouble, either,” Kasey is quick toadd.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I mumble under my breath, “Sweet Jesus, help me...” before fully addressing them. “Then why are y’allhere?”

Kelly and Kasey exchange what could only be described as a plotting glance before Kelly points her thumb toward her chest and tells me, “Consider me your Ghost of Christmas Past.” She jerks her thumb toward Kasey next. “And her your Ghost of Christmas Future, if you don’t get your shittogether.”

Dumbfounded, I stare at them. “Excuse me, butwhat?”

Kelly rolls her eyes. “Listen, Azalea. Honestly, we don’t mean you any harm. We just want to make sure you’re serious about Drake. That you really get it. That you’re not gonna hurt him.Again.”

I swallow nervously, hating the way they’re ganging up on me. “I have no intentions of hurting him,” I tell them, pleasantly surprised by the strength in my voice. “So y’all cango.”

“Not happening, honey. We need to talk,” Kasey says, settling further into thecouch.

I’m about to lay into her when the timer in my apron pocket sounds. “Ah. Saved by the bell, ladies. Y’all have a nice night.” I turn and head toward the back of the salon, where Mrs. Keeler’s waiting for me, assuming they’ll see themselvesout.

Except the shop bell doesn’t ring.Lovely. Just fuckinglovely.

I shampoo Mrs. Keeler’s hair twice, adding in five additional minutes of scalp massage before leading her to my chair, where I very slowly set about drying and styling her hair, feeding her some BS line about wanting her style to hold all night with the humidity and chance of rain. Praise be, she likes being pampered and doesn’targue.

Once I’ve smoothed her auburn locks into submission and teased her hair to high heavens, I spin her toward the mirror. “Oh, goodness, yes. This’ll do just fine, dear. Heck, those housewives just may circle me instead of Harold tonight,” she says, smirking at herreflection.

“You’ll be the belle of the ball, for sure. Why don’t you get changed out of this smock and meet me up front?” I tell her as I straighten up mystation.

“Sounds like a plan, and please put me down with Myla Rose for color as soon as she’s back. She is coming back,right?”

“Yes, ma’am, she is. Still don’t know how Cash convinced her to take a fourteen-week maternity leave, but hedid!”

Mrs. Keeler sighs, but her eyes are glistening. “That man,” she says as she turns and heads back to get changed. I smile and nod because I know exactly what she means. Cash Carson is everything Myla could’ve ever wanted, and thensome.

“Of course, y’all are still here,” I grump to the two gorgeous brunettes occupying my receptionarea.

“Oh, yeah, girl. We’re still here. You go on and finish up. We’ll wait.” Kasey’s smile is so saccharine it makes my teeth ache. Or maybe that’s from me grinding them. Eitherway.

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