Phyllis tapped her pen against her chin. “Five letters, ‘something you can never find when you need it.’”
“Sleep,” Alix groaned.
“Hmm, no. Doesn’t fit.”
Alix sipped, hissed at the heat, then sipped again. “Dignity.”
“That’s seven letters, dear,” Phyllis said without hesitation, eyes back on her crossword. Then, as if it were an afterthought: “So. Who’s Grace?”
Alix nearly snorted coffee up her nose. “Excuse me?”
Phyllis raised a brow. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen her name on your phone dozens of times now. For days you’ve been grinning at that thing like it’s a slot machine spitting coins. Unless you finally joined a pyramid scheme.”
Alix covered her face with her hands. “She’s just a friend.”
Phyllis slapped the crossword triumphantly. “I knew it. Tell me about her.”
“She’s… just someone.”
“Someone,” Phyllis repeated, wrinkling her nose like the word had spoiled. “Someone who’s worth you sneaking around like a teenager?”
Alix peeked out from between her fingers. “We’re just texting about our breakups. Purely platonic. She’s funny. Smart. Some kind of lawyer. She’s in Florida.”
Phyllis leaned back, steepling her fingers like she was holding court. “All right. I’ll need her résumé, three references, and a blood sample. Can’t have you wasting more years on nonsense like Kirstin.”
Alix groaned again.
Phyllis only smiled into her crossword.
The salon where Alix worked wasn’t hers, which was the point.
It belonged to Vince, a man who’d leaned so hard into a punk-rock aesthetic that the place looked like a Hot Topic tent exploded at a Warped Tour. Black-and-red everything, posters of bands no one had listened to in a decade, chains bolted to mirrors. Vince thought it looked edgy. It reminded Alix of Spencer’s Gifts, circa 2003.
She didn’t like it, but her clients didn’t come for the décor or Vince’s faded eyeliner phase. They came for her. For her steady hands, her ability to yap about anything to anyone, for the way she could make a corporate VP feel a little dangerous with bangs that looked artfully alternative.
If she wanted, she could open her own place. People would follow her. Even Lola and Oscar had said they’d join her. But for now, she loved the short commute and sharing a bungalow with Phyllis and her crossword addiction. She loved the simplicity.
She wasn’t ready to give that up yet.
She rolled in on her longboard anyway, Docs thudding against the floor as she stashed her board in the break room. Lola was already at her station, wrangling a jar of sanitizer wipes, while Oscar leaned against the front desk, scrolling his phone. He barely lifted his chin in a nod.
“Morning, sunshine,” Lola singsonged. “I put on your favorite mix to get you in the mood for Halloween.”
Alix paused, listening until she realized Lola was smirking and she was playing theTwilightsoundtrack, which even Alix had to admit had some bangers. She’d agreed to dress up with Lola and Oscar for Halloween, but she had very little say in thetheme, unfortunately.”I need more coffee,” Alix said instead, though she’d had two mugs already.
Her first client was a woman in her fifties with an executive bob and the faint smell of eucalyptus. Not her vibe, but Alix knew her type — someone who wanted to look sharp enough to be taken seriously and kind enough to be approachable at work. Alix delivered textured layers that did both, and the woman tipped generously.
She was rinsing a dark cherry cola dye out of her second client when she saw her.
Kirstin.
Offuckingcourse.
Sliding into Vince’s chair like she owned the place, blond hair glossy, Oud Wood perfume curling through the air. Alix’s gut twisted. This was her turf, her workplace, and Kirstin damn well knew it.
Kirstin didn’t look at her right away. She never did. That was part of the game. The delay, the control, the faint suggestion that Alix was the one reaching. She crossed her legs and scrolled through her phone, pretending not to notice. Like they hadn’t spent nights together. Like she hadn’t once laughed against Alix’s collarbone and whispered she was trouble.
Alix felt the sting in her chest, quick and sharp, then shoved it down. Silly. It had been casual. Nothing official, nothing promised. Just a few months of bad decisions and great sex that got messy at the end. That’s all.
