Page 6 of Her Magic Light

I relaxed a little as I walked into the breakroom to store my purse and picked up my apron. I smoothed it over my clothes as I walked back into the salon, breathing in the lingering odors of perm solution and chemical dye. At the end of the day, I’d leave wearing the scent like a perfume.

The familiar swirls of smells relaxed me, and I breathed deeper. My workplace had already become like a second home. I created colorful art here, too.

I glanced at the customers already in. Mostly elderly ladies—the ones who most liked to gossip—sitting with their heads firmly under old-fashioned dryers. I doubted Bess had updated the place since the nineteen sixties. She had, though. The dryers were only kept to amuse the ladies who liked sitting under them to exchange the latest news.

“Meira?” Bess beckoned me over.

I fished tying my apron at the back and walked to join her at the counter that held our appointment book. “We’re busy this morning,” I murmured.

“Yes, well…” She shook her head in apparent frustration. “I had a little mix up with the scheduling.” She lifted her coffee and took another long draw through the small hole in the white plastic lid. “I definitely needed a good caffeine fix this morning, that’s for sure and dandy.”

“How’s the rest of the day looking?” I glanced at the neat writing filling the time slots.

Bess drew her finger down the columns until she reached my first appointment. “At least I didn’t book you anything too early this morning, hun. Musta known you were going to turn up with coffee.” She winked. “Creative chaos and all.”

“Yeah, sorry I was late.” I swept my hair from my face to tie it back in a ponytail.

Bess watched the movement then reached out her hand and trailed it through the strands of my hair, stopping the movement. “Beautiful,” she muttered. “I have no idea how you do it.”

“It’s in the way I mix the dyes and apply the colors.” I shrugged. It really wasn’t rocket science, but if Bess wanted to believe it was, I could live with that.

She shook her head, denying my words. “No… No… I’ve seen hair colorists before. I’ve seen a normal dye job. And whatyoudo isn’tnormal. You have real talent. If I could clone you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She laughed. “Since you came to work for me, profits are up, and things are good.” She nodded her head. “Nope. Things are great. Might even be a pay increase in it for ya.” She nudged me with her shoulder and chuckled. “But don’t remind me I said that.”

I laughed as well and grabbed my coffee from where I’d left it, taking a sip as I wandered to my area of the salon.

Bess let me work however I wanted so long as I continued to get amazing results for her clients. Creative chaos reigned. As long as my mess wasn’t immediately visible from the doorway, where it might scare off prospective customers, she was all good.

Still, things had gotten a bit out of control the past few days, and I could now straighten up a bit.

As I worked at clearing my clutter, Bess moved toward her customers. “Ladies, how are things going over here? Let me check on you.”

Leslie Seymour groaned. “We were just getting to the juicy part.”

I grinned as I moved some of my dye from the table to the shelf.

Bess whistled. “The juicy part? Without me?” She was the perfect hairdresser. Always interested in her clients’ lives and great at conversational fluff.

“My dear, haven’t you seen all of the gorgeous young men in town this morning?”

Rona Clarke butted in. “They’re not all young, dear.”

But Mrs. Seymour was undeterred. “I’m eighty-four years old. Everyone’s young these days—especially those men in the suits.”

“Which men in suits?” Bess bustled between the ladies, lifting the dryers, and checking on their hair.

“Haven’t you seen?” Mrs. Clarke sounded almost scandalized. “It’s like an episode ofAmerica’s Next Top Modelout there—well-built men wearing designer suits treating the streets of Sweetwater like their own personal runway.”

Mrs. Seymour scoffed. “It’s not quite like that. Some of them are just loitering around, doing a fat load of nothing with their time.”

I glanced up in time to see Mrs. Clarke purse her lips. “If they’re loitering, it’s with some kind of ulterior motive, and they’re certainly very ornamental while they’re doing it.”

Both ladies cackled, and Bess looked in my direction.

“How about you, Meira? Did you see these model guys who seem to have been rained onto our town’s streets?”

“Mm.” I shrugged noncommittally as a vision of blue eyes entered my head once more. That damn guy. Why hadn’t he kept his sunglasses on like the others?

All eyes were fixed on me. I needed to say something more. “There are a few new strangers out there, yeah.”

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