“Glad you like it.” Struan flashes a smile that probably gets him free coffee all over town.
Ugh. No, I’m here to inspect walls, not grins that belong in a toothpaste advert. If there’s something pleasant about his smile, that’s completely irrelevant.
“Thanks for the Wi-Fi, by the way,” I say, keeping my tone brisk. “Got a lot done. Anyway, I should?—”
“Here, I’ve got a few more things to show you.”
His tone is warm—annoyingly warm. This is exactly the kind of charm that got me into trouble before. Easy smiles, helpful gestures, making me feel like I’m centre stage and everyone else is scenery. I know how this story ends.
He flips a switch, and instead of the old harsh spotlights, soft white bulbs bathe the space in a relaxing glow, the kind that’ll make clients look good even before I’ve touched their hair.
“Less dentist, more salon?” he suggests.
“They look great,” I admit, and a little thrill runs through me that hasnothingto do with the man standing beside me. Because this is actually happening. My salon is coming together, piece by piece.
I pull out my phone and snap a quick selfie in front of the feature wall, captioning it “transformation in progress!” before uploading it to Instagram.
“And now for the big reveal.” Struan strides to the front of the salon where something large sits under a tarpaulin. He whips it off with a flourish, the movement pulling his jeans tight across his arse, and for a moment I’m embarrassingly distracted by?—
“What do you think?”
My eyes snap up, heat flooding my cheeks. Oh God, he caught me staring at his?—
But no, he’s looking at the bench. The gorgeous custom-built waiting bench he’s made, all smooth lines and elegant curves.
For God’s sake, Ainsley. Get a grip.
I dig my nails into my palm, using the small sting to pull myself together. I didn’t come to Ardmara to ogle joiners. I came here to build something stable for Lily and me.Notto make the same stupid mistakes all over again.
“It’s...” I clear my throat. “You’ve done a brilliant job. Really.”
“Glad you think so.” He gives the bench a once-over. “Won’t fix it in place until the flooring’s sorted, of course.”
I fish my planner from my bag, grateful to have something to do with my hands. “And the new flooring’s going down when?”
“First thing Monday.” He glances at the tired vinyl tiles. “Da’s helping, so we should have it done by Tuesday afternoon at the latest. Then I can start assembling the rest of the furniture.”
I jot the details down and make a mental note to double-check the furniture delivery dates. I can feel his gaze on me as I write, and when I glance up, he’s looking at my hair.
I wore it down today, curled at the ends in soft, bouncy spirals. It took me forty-five minutes this morning—an indulgence I can rarely afford with a four-year-old. I didn’t do it forhim, obviously. No, I need to look the part if I’m going to convince this town to trust me with their hair. It’s branding. Professionalism.
His gaze lingers a heartbeat too long, warm enough to make my stomach tighten, and that just irritates me more. I don’t want to react to him. I don’t want to feelanythingwhen he looks at me.
Then the door opens, pulling Struan’s focus from me.
“Cooey!” Mum bustles in, carrying a stack of flyers. “Oh, this place looks great!”
“You must be Mrs Reid.” Struan extends his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Struan.”
Mum beams at him. “So polite. And handsome too! Lucky you, Ainsley, having him live next door.”
Oh God. Could she be any more embarrassing?
“We should get going,” I say. “Lots of ground to cover today.”
“Of course.” Struan’s lips twitch. “Well, I’ll just be here, working on your salon and being handsome.”
Mum actually giggles. Giggles! Like she’s sixteen instead of sixty-two.
