The server came over and took our order, then disappeared to the back, leaving us alone once again. There was a moment where we both just sat there, holding each other’s gaze a second longer than we should, but in that silence, I felt something I hadn’t felt with any other woman.
I wanted this to go right.
Not perfect. Hell, nothing’s ever perfect.
I wanted real. Honest. No past. No ghosts. No Davis and what he had just put us through. Just her and me, letting the cards play out as they may. And I gotta say, my hand was looking pretty damn good. I just hoped she felt the same about hers.
By the time the plates were cleared, the easy part of the night had settled in. She told me about going to cosmetology school and partnering with the salon, and I shared a little about club life and my renovations at the house. It was easy. It was nice.
The server came back over and asked, “You two thinking about dessert?”
I glanced over at Presley, and when she nodded, I answered, “Absolutely.”
The server smiled. “The peach cobbler’s still warm.”
“That’d be great. Bring two forks.”
“You got it.”
When the server walked away, I leaned back in the booth and felt relaxed in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks. Presley watched me for a second, and then her head tilted like she was mulling something over. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen the look tonight, so I asked, “Okay. Spit it out.”
“It’s nothing.” She giggled. “You just keep pushing your hair out of your eyes.”
“It gets in the way.”
“Seems like it’s been happening a lot.”
“It has.” I shrugged. “I just haven’t taken the time to do anything about it.”
“I could cut it for you.”
I immediately pictured her standing close, her fingers brushing through my hair, and smelling her soft scent as she trimmed the long ends, and I couldn’t deny that the offer was tempting. Damn tempting. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I was just offering.”
“Alright, then. When do you wanna do it?”
“How ‘bout after dessert?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Half an hour later, the dessert bowl was wiped clean, the tab was paid, and we were on our way to Presley’s salon. The drive over was quiet, but in the best way possible. Streetlights slid across the windshield, and every now and then, I’d catch her glancing over in my direction.
I might’ve been wrong, but I had the feeling that she was actually enjoying herself. I pulled up into the parking space and killed the engine before following her inside. She flipped on the lights, one by one, and the place came alive.
It was small. There were only four or five stations, but one stood out from the others. it was clean and unmistakably hers. The mirrors were polished, the chairs were lined up just right,and all the hair products were arranged by color and brand. There were wood planks on the back wall and thick white trim throughout, and she had various quotes and flowers scattered throughout the place, giving it that country feel that everyone seems to be into these days.
It was nice.
It was clear she was proud of it.
“This is nice.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. But then again, I’ve never been to a chick salon before.”
“Guys come here, too.”
