“He looks like he’s with that biker club, the criminal one,” my client says quietly. “They have a bad reputation, Poppy. They’re supposed to be into some shady shit. Is the shop in some kind of trouble?”
I can’t even process what she’s saying.
The man who swooped in and saved his children, who paid their bill, no questions asked, is a criminal? I mean, he rolled off a wad of hundreds, but lots of people still pay in cash. My client Grace doesn’t even have a debit card and pays in twenty-dollar bills every week when she comes in for her wash and set.
“No,” I say, trying to reassure myself as much as my client. “There’s no trouble here. God, no. I do his daughters’ hair.”
“Oh.” My client relaxes slightly and reopens her app.
“Let me just go see if he needs something. I’ll be right back.” I wave to Cynthia to get the client shampooed, then I head over to the front counter.
The way I’m drawn to Phantom’s dark beard, full jaw, and piercing eyes has me feeling things, really feeling things that I haven’t felt since Michael and I were young, and I’m not sure I like it.
I approach the counter and tap him lightly on the arm. His bare skin is hot, light hairs tickling my skin, and I immediately pull away. “Hey, can I help you with something?”
I don’t know what I expect of a man who looks like he does, but the smile he gives me is so big and genuine, his eyes seem to turn from midnight blue to navy.
“Hey there, gorgeous. Good to see you again,” he says, scanning the shop full of women, many of whom are looking right back at him. “Looks busy as hell in here. Any chance I can get five minutes in your office or something?”
My stomach sinks. I can’t imagine what he’s here for and could possibly need to talk to me about privately. Maybe he wants his money back… I think back over what my client said. If he’s really with some kind of criminal club, maybe he’s…
I’m spiraling. I don’t know what he’s here for, and there is no need to expect trouble just because he’s a biker.
“Five minutes,” he says. “I promise.”
His smile melts me inside, and I immediately stop doomscrolling possibilities in my brain. I did nothing wrong. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
In fact, if anything, he stopped something bad from happening here. Whether he is connected to criminals or is one himself, I’m going to give the guy five minutes of my time and then show him the door.
“I have a client getting shampooed.” I nod. “I have a few minutes. I don’t have an office, but we have an employee lounge. Follow me.”
I head toward the back and feel the searing gaze of my sister as we walk past her station. Phantom follows me too closely for me to say anything he won’toverhear, so I don’t say anything. I just focus on not tripping over my heels and getting past the heavy stares of my customers and staff.
“Mary,” I say, noticing one of the shampoo girls putting away product in the storage closet at the back of the lounge. “Can we have a minute, please?”
She turns and sees Phantom, and her eyes go wide. “Yeah, of course,” she says, hastily replacing boxes of color, then scurries out onto the floor.
I motion for Phantom to take a seat on a leather love seat covered in plush faux-velvet pillows, then I drop down into an armchair, my knees feeling wobbly.
Phantom turns to look at the love seat like he’s afraid he’s going to break it, but then he carefully lowers himself onto it.
“I’m sorry for dropping in like this,” he says, his voice going tight. “Won’t be a regular thing. I have a favor to ask, and it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to say over text.”
A favor? This man wants a favor from me? All sorts of scenarios flood my brain, but I rush to the most obvious one: he wants his money back. I can’t imagine what else he could want. But after all the extra expenses the last couple days, I really can’t afford to give away my time and services. I don’t have enough time as it is. Was his paying the bill just an act to look like the hero in front of his kids? My anxiety and anger must show on my face because he suddenly looks incredibly serious.
“Look,” he says, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t ask ifit weren’t for my kids. I know you said you’re a single mom, so I thought I’d shoot my shot.”
I swallow hard and brace for it. “What do you want?”
He draws in a breath. “What happened here the other day, with Shayla trying to run out. It’s not the first time she’s pulled something like this, and without getting into the weeds, there’s been other shit.” He rubs his brow, and I notice the detailed and intricate tattoos on his right arm. Some of it looks rough and faded, but his left arm is full of colorful, newer tattoos and a crazy amount of muscles.
“What can I do?” I ask, doing my best to focus on his eyes, not his beautiful arms.
“I was hoping you’d write up a statement about what happened so I can give it to the court. I don’t want to put you in the middle of anything, but I’m filing for full custody of my kids. My daughters are happy about it—thank God they want to stay with me—but Shayla, not so much. Having something from you about what happened here could help the judge make a decision.” He shrugs. “But if it’s something you’re not down for, I understand. No harm done if you’d rather not get involved.”
My heart rate slows a bit as I process what he’s asking me for. It’s not money. He actually wants my help?
“Is that all I’d have to do?” I ask. “Just write a letter?”
