“Struan, no. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Look, I’ve got the van and Isla’s having a sleepover tonight, so I’m not picking her up till tomorrow. Just give me the address and order number so they’ll release it to me.”
She stares at me. “It’s a four-hour round trip.”
“Aye, I can count.”
“But you’ve already done so much. The refurb, the furniture, the—” She stops and shakes her head. “This is too much.”
“It’s really not.”
She hesitates. “I’ll pay you for the extra hours,” she says finally. “And for petrol.”
“Don’t be daft. We’re neighbours. This is just me being neighbourly.”
She folds her arms. Still sniffling, but stubborn as ever. “I hate owing anyone, Struan.”
“Fine.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’ll add a bit to the invoice for the petrol, but forget the extra hours.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Then, quietly: “Okay, deal. Thank you, Struan.”
“Save it for when I actually get back with the stuff, aye?”
She almost smiles.
Almost.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AINSLEY
The Lily Room hums with life.
An hour into opening day, and the salon is buzzing. Mum drifts between clients with a bottle of prosecco, topping up glasses and accepting compliments like she built the place herself. Lily works the room in herFrozencostume, chatting to anyone who’ll listen, while Da moves beside her, passing out nibbles.
“The rose gold is so glam,” someone says behind me.
“What a difference from the old place,” another voice agrees.
I smile to myself as I section off Blair’s damp hair. Every anxious moment, every decision I overthought, every wobble along the way—worth it.
Not that I can take credit for the physical work, of course. That was all Struan and his da.
I’m running on caffeine, adrenaline, and not nearly enough sleep, but I’m in my element. Yesterday’s chaos—the missing products, the tears I’m still mortified about—already feels distant. Like a bad dream that dissolved the moment the first clients walked in.
“Right,” I say, meeting Blair’s eyes in the mirror. “We’re doing a butterfly fringe, is that right?”
“Yes! Exactly. I’ve not had my hair cut for months, so it’s practically grown out.”
“And we’ll add some new layers throughout for body, aye?”
Blair nods. “Perfect.”
I pick up my scissors and get to work, muscle memory taking over as I work through the cut. Nearby, Sheila’s busy with a client who’s followed her from the old salon. Ruby, meanwhile, is talking a curious local through our treatment menu while keeping an eye on the timer for Mrs Galbraith, who’s sitting under the hood dryer looking thoroughly pampered.
The waiting bench is full, a mix of pre-booked appointments and walk-ins. All the work, the stress, the risk... it’s paying off.
I glance up at the mirror and catch Mum watching me from across the room, her smile so proud it makes my cheeks warm. I duck my head and focus on Blair’s layers, blending the shorter pieces around her face to frame her features.
