Page 32 of Keeping Promises

I’m just finishing up with Ms. Tuley, one of my regular clients, when the front door chimes behind me.

“Hi, welcome to Lavish. Can I help you?” I hear Zoe, our front desk girl, say in her bubbly voice, greeting whoever just came in. How the hell she can have that much energy after working all damn day, I just don’t know. Maybe it’s the ever-present Starbucks cup I see in her hand. I don’t look up, focused on finishing up this blow-dry so that I can change before Asher arrives.

“Actually, I’m here to see Hadley Kincaid,” a deep voice responds.

In the mirror reflection, I see Asher standing there at the front desk in dark jeans and a light heathered gray Henley with his sleeves scrunched up around the elbows.

He looks like a damn snack, especially with those black combat boots. Thankfully, he hasn’t caught me staring yet.

Too late—right before I look back down to focus on Ms. Tuley’s hair, Zoe points over toward my station, and Asher follows the line of sight direct to me.

I give him a brief smile, and he returns it before tilting his head to the side toward the waiting area chairs. I nod slightly in acknowledgment and focus back on what I was doing. I watch him flip through magazine after magazine. Either he is a speed reader or is just pretending to look at them. Is he as nervous as I am?

When I’m not looking in the mirror, I can feel his gaze on me. Once I complete drying her hair, I set the dryer back on my station and do one last check to inspect everything is cut evenly.

Perfection.

When working on hair or doing makeup, I feel like how Picasso must have felt painting. It’s an art, a way to express myself or others’ needs creatively. It’s a great way to escape my reality and get lost in colors, designs, and styles. Hair and makeup can depict and change your mood—if you’re feeling sad, get your hair done and feel instantly better. My boss might be a dick, but working here not only gives me creative freedom but security, and with everything so up in the air with my future, financial security is what I need. Eventually, I want to open up my own place, where I can be my own boss and set my own hours, but I can put my dreams on hold now for this little one. My mother always put her needs and wants first, and I refuse to be that kind of parent.

“All right, Ms. Tuley, you’re all set.” I remove the smock from her and brush the back of her shirt for any stray hairs. She admires my handiwork.

“Thank you so much, Hadley. You always do such a nice job, dear. If only I could make it look as half as you do.”

“It was no problem at all. I bet Mr. Winchester won’t be able to keep his hands off you as soon as he sees you.” That’s another thing I love about my job—getting to know my clients. It’s as if they become an extension of my family. We share small talk during each appointment, and I learn little details about them. Like Ms. Tuley, for example: she lost her husband to a car accident six years ago but recently reconnected with her high school sweetheart, who was also a widower, and they rekindled their relationship. It’s a story that I could see in one of those romance novels that Brynn is always reading.

She giggles, and a blush appears on her cheeks.

I escort her to the front desk to let Zoe know of the services provided and when to schedule the next appointment before saying goodbye to Ms. Tuley. As I walk away from behind the desk, Asher approaches.

“I hope it’s okay that I came a little early.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking nervous.

“No, it’s fine. I was just finishing up a client. I just need to clean up and then change, and I’ll be all set.”

“Should I just wait over here?”

“No, you can come over to my station.” I nod for him to follow me.

I brush off the chair and hold out my hand to tell him to sit.

“You’re not going to go all Sweeney Todd on my ass, are you?” He quirks an eyebrow at me.

I go about cleaning my station, laughing as he settles back into the chair, crossing his leg over his knee. I don’t need to look in the reflection to know that he’s looking at me.

“You know, your silence isn’t settling.”

“You’re fine. I promise to not got all ‘Sweeney Todd on your ass’ as you so eloquently put it.” I laugh. “Would you ever let me cut your hair?”

I eye him in the mirror as he gives it some thought, pursing his lips together and inspecting his reflection, moving his head from side to side. He drops his leg to the ground and settles his elbows on his knees, and crooks his finger at me in a come-here motion. It’s as if he’s going to share a secret with me.

His warm breath sends a shiver down my spine. “I trust you.” Those three words hold so much power, almost as much as if he were saying “I love you.” He trusts me; then, I should be able to trust him. “If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll even let you do something crazy to it.”

I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my lips. I like the playful side of Asher Harrington.

I clutch my hand to my chest dramatically. I’d love to get my hands on him and drag my fingers through his hair, gripping the strands. And now my mind is going to places it shouldn’t—imagining dragging my fingers through his hair while his tongue explores every inch of my body.

“Hadley,” a voice calls out, and I spin to find Zoe standing there with her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

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