Page 51 of New Growth
“So, what made you wanna open a salon?”
I shrugged, running my fingers along the strap of my purse. “It just seemed like the next step after finishing beauty school. Myfriend knew someone with a building, and my dad left me some money in his will, so… it all worked out that way.”
His expression softened. “Do you love it?”
I met his gaze. “Wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t.”
He nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer. “How long has it been open?”
“About a year.”
“Amazing.”
I glanced at him. “What about you? How long have you been drawing?”
“Since I was eight. But I started professionally at twenty with an internship.”
I tilted my head. “Do you love it?”
A slow smile curved his lips, something almost intimate about the way his gaze lingered on me. “I love it very much, Elliot.”
The way he said my name sent a warm pulse through my stomach. I cleared my throat, looking away.
“Oh. Well. That’s good.”
Before I could think too much about it, he exhaled sharply, his steps slowing beside me.
“Mind if we sit for a bit? I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
My stomach tightened with concern. “Sure, I don’t mind.”
I followed as he led me to a quieter corner, away from the displays. He lowered himself onto a bench, rubbing his forehead, his jaw clenched. The change in his demeanor unsettled me.
“Are you okay?” I asked, studying his face, looking for signs of pain.
He took a slow breath, nodding, but I wasn’t convinced.
“Yeah, just waiting for the insulin to kick in.”
My stomach twisted. “Insulin? You’re diabetic?”
He nodded again. “Type two.”
My heart sank. A familiar feeling sprung up in me.
Fear?
What was there to be scared about? I studied him, taking in the subtle pallor of his skin and the way he blinked a little slower than usual, like he was forcing himself to stay steady.
I hesitated at the sight. “Is it… manageable?”
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile.
“Well, I recently became insulin-dependent, which means my pancreas is fucked and I don’t produce enough insulin on my own anymore. ”
Something in his voice was too casual, and I couldn’t tell if it was nonabrasive or if he was just making it seem that way.
“Is that bad?”
