I wanted to say no, I wanted to stretch my feet beneath the table and prop them up on the other bench seat to block him from sitting down, but instead I acted like a mature adult. “Sure.” I glanced at the clock in the diner and amended, “But I don’t have long.”
“Fair enough,” Kyle said amicably as he slid into the booth. “I won’t keep you.” He offered me a friendly smile before he said, “So, you and Gabe, huh?”
“Nope.” It was true; there was no me and Gabe. I didn’t know what someone would call us. We weren’t fuck buddies because we weren’t buddies. I knew virtually nothing about the man except that I liked to climb all over him like a jungle gym. We certainly weren’t in a relationship. Just thinking the word gave me the heebie jeebies.
“That’s too bad,” Kyle said, surprising the hell out of me. “I think you’d be really good for him.”
“You do?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“I do,” he said, nodding his head. “Gabe is a good man – a great man, really, but he could stand to shake things up a bit.” I knew that people probably said the same of me. It sounded like that was the one thing that Gabe and I might have in common besides sex. “I want Gabe to be happy.”
“And you think I could do that?” The scoff he heard in my voice made him smile. “I’m not the person he’s looking for in life,” I said with a shake of my head.
“Don’t be so certain, Josh.” Kyle slid out of the booth and patted me on the shoulder. “I don’t think you should be so quick to dismiss the idea that the two of you are well suited for one another.”
I could do nothing but stare at him with my mouth open.He had to be joking, right?What did Kyle know, or think he knew, that I didn’t?
“I’ll see you around,” Kyle said. He turned and walked to the register to pay his bill.
“Later,” I said in a quiet, awed voice.
I snapped out of my stunned stupor and concentrated on eating my lunch so I could get back to work. It was safe there; everything had its place and purpose. I was in control and there was no guess work, no uncertainty.
“How was your chicken salad and potato chips?” Chaz asked when I returned to the salon.
“I had grilled cheese and veggie beef soup,” I replied, absently. Then I realized that all the noise in the salon stopped. I looked up and all the stylists, their clients, and Chaz were looking at me funny. “What?”
My newest stylist, Marci, turned to look at her mentor, and fellow stylist, Heather. “What day is this?”
“Wednesday,” Heather said in shock, as if I’d just squatted in the middle of the floor and took a shit.
“Oh, come on, guys,” I said in exasperation. “I just wanted to try something a little different.”
“So we’ve heard,” said Janet Wiseman, the client in Marci’s chair. “Seems like a little romance is brewing between you and that sexy detective.”
“Damn that man is fine,” Marci said.
“Pin me down and do me, baby,” I heard Savage call out from the other room. “Uh, yeah.” Thank God for small favors, because the blue bird figuratively swooped in and pulled the focus off of me. I decided I would give him an extra treat later after I closed the salon for the day.
“Sounds like your bird wants to take your man, Josh,” said Brenda Calhoun, who was sitting beneath the dryers. I had no idea how she heard anything under that hood.
“He’s not my man,” I said between gritted teeth.
The bells above the door chimed and a tall blonde woman walked in and gave her name to Chaz. He pointed over to me and she turned to look at me. I didn’t connect the name to a face when I saw it on my list of appointments for the day, but I realized who she was the second I laid eyes on her. Sally Ann Goode, the wife of Gabe’s partner. I had to wonder if this was a coincidence or if she was another busybody.
Sally Ann hung up her coat on the rack and then began walking to my station. The smile she gave me was warm and friendly, not at all conniving. “Hi, I’m Sally Ann,” she said, extending her hand to me.
“Josh Roman.” I shook her hand. “Why don’t you have a seat so we can get started.” Sally Ann took a seat and I draped a cape over her body, securing it behind her neck. I ran my fingers through her hair and pulled it back from her heart-shaped face. I looked into the mirror and caught her eyes. “What did you have in mind today?”
“I want a big change,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. “I want to cut off enough hair to donate it so that it can be made into wigs for children with cancer. Can you help me with that?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “How short are we talking? Do you have a picture of a particular cut you like?”
Sally reached beneath the cape and pulled out her cellphone. She swiped it on and said, “I have a few ideas actually. Maybe you can help me figure out which one looks better with the shape of my face.”
She showed me a few different hairstyles that varied from shoulder to chin length. “They’d all look really good on you so it’s just a matter of how much hair you really want to cut.”
She chewed on her lips for a second and then went with the shortest of them all, just as I expected she would. I had learned a long time ago that women took great pride in their hair. Sometimes, it was the only thing they felt prideful about. They would often feel negative about their bodies or maybe their looks, but would take comfort in the fact that they had long, lush hair.
