“Okay, will do. You just keep the bribes coming.”
“Oh yes, I will, but I may just go straight diamonds and vintage jewels. That bag contains the extent of my cooking skills.”
“Mine too, if you ask Dean. Ugh,askedDean.” She was doing that all the time here. She hadn’t when she was off on her own, but here, it was natural.
“You know, you can say it in the present tense if you want. I’m constantly asking him questions. ‘What would Dean do?’ is a mantra for all my construction projects right now.”
“You’re nuts,” J.J. said.
“Maybe. Anyway, I’d offer to drive you into town, but I do have an early meeting with an inspector.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got the old wagon from the house. And if I do decide to bolt, I’m mobile. Plus, I need to find a place. This Laverne and Shirley gig will put ten pounds on me.” She rattled the lunch bag.
“Just keep an eye on Stone and set up the coolest little salon in Lenawee County. I’ll shoot you over the places I know that are still for rent. It’s slim pickings this late, thanks to the tourists. But I’ll find something.”
“Okay, I have my orders.”
“And also, a bag of Bugles.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I know you like them.”
“I liked them in 1989.”
“Have a good day!” Libby grabbed her messenger bag and was off to take on the world. She walked like a woman who was confident that the world would comply.
J.J. followed and headed into town, less than confident. She was actually nervous. She pulled into the spot and looked up at the last vacant space on this side of the street. She felt her heart beat a little faster and her stomach felt slightly upside down as well.
What am I nervous about?
She’d worked in a salon since high school. Her client base had been eighty-five percent of what kept Hairdo or Dye afloat for the last five years.
J.J. shook off her butterflies. She’d figure it out. She’d set up the salon, thwart any ideas Stone had about being the Austin Powers of Irish Hills, and then she’d bounce. She’d head to California for a new leg of her “See the USA” phase.
Libby had given her a key already so J.J. could check out the space and get started.
She gasped as she opened the door and took in the main room.
The space was gorgeous.
How is this space so perfect?
The ceiling was exposed, and the ductwork painted. There were also three gigantic, brand-new, modern skylights that seemed to fit in perfectly. Natural light in a salon was the holy grail.
The brick walls were vintage but also lovingly restored. J.J. knew the floor wasn’t vintage but made to look like it. Wide planks, little knot holes, and gouges made it look like it was as old as the building. It was the smallest of the rental spaces on this side of the street, but somehow, that made it all the more charming. The skylights made it feel open and airy.
There was something else. Something she didn’t expect.
Dean was here. His soul was in the mortar, his hands on the floor planks, selecting, eyeballing to be sure they were right. More than even in his closet at home, he was in these walls.
He’d made this space perfect, almost as if he’d known it was for her.
How could that even be?
Maybe he listened to her over the years, describing what Shelly should do at the salon to make it nicer.
“Dean Tucker, you acted like you weren’t paying attention,” J.J. said under her breath.
