“You still want to do that?”
“Yeah, for the sick kids, Daddy.” Her tone sounded like she was speaking to someone who wasn’t all there or was losing it.
“You know when you cut your hair, then it takes alongtime to grow back.”
“I know, Daddy. It took me so long to make it go from here, to here.” Tabby put one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist. “But I did it ’cause the sick kids don’t have any hair, and they need my hair, remember?”
He did remember. He remembered two years ago, the MRI waiting room. They were there for a routine test due for Tabby’s murmur. He remembered Tabby meeting a girl named Harper and telling her that her bald head looked like moonstone, and then Tabby giving her one of her crystals. He remembered Tabby asking, “Why don’t you have hair?” and Harper’s mom explaining about chemo, about cells that misbehaved, and about medicine that sometimes took away more than it gave. He remembered how Tabby, all of three years old, had looked at the girl and said, “You can have mine.” Simple as that. Like hair and hope and health were all things you could trade or just hand over to someone who needed it more.
Harper’s mom explained there was a program that she could donate to and now, two years later, Tabby still wanted to keep that promise. Tabby had never forgotten, not even when he’d tried to gently redirect her, worried she wouldn’t be ready for the aftermath, for how differentshe’d look in the mirror. The memory always made his throat constrict.
“If they have an appointment and they can see us, then we can ask if it’s ready.”
He knew there were very specific rules for Locks of Love, rules that he was fairly confident Jenna would know.
Tabby scrunched up her nose. “You don’t have an appointment?”
“Nope.”
“But youalwayssay to make an appointment, so you don’t waste time.”
That was a motto he lived by. His creed. His rule. That was the problem with Jenna all that went out the window. When it came to her, all bets were off.
Deacon pulled up in front of The Beauty Spot. He couldn’t believe he’d lived in town for months, driven by the salon hundreds of times, and never known the woman who haunted his every waking thought was inside. It was almost laughable. Almost.
He got out of the SUV and opened the door for Tabby. She reached up and grabbed his hand, and they walked inside. The place was full. He counted eight stylists’ chairs, and five were occupied. The waiting area was a banquette under the front window, upholstered in navy velvet. There was only one person waiting, a man, in his late forties in a suit that looked slightly too expensive for Hope Falls, but he wore it with the slouched indifference of someone who’d spent too many hours in airports. He flipped through a magazine, but his eyes were fixed on the phone in his lap, his thumb scrolling compulsively.
As he took in the salon, Deacon instantly recognized just how much this place was a physical representation of the woman he’d spent the night with over a year ago inthat hotel room. It had an air of elegance, but somehow fit into the small town, mountain environment.
Pale gray walls and white accents created a backdrop for eight stations, each with oversized antique mirrors framed in brushed nickel and gold that reflected the warm Edison bulbs overhead, the kind of space that made you feel like you belonged there, even on a first visit.
His boots met polished concrete floors that had been sealed smooth, and when Tabby’s hand squeezed his, he noticed the air itself felt softer there, conditioned and easy to breathe. A blend of salon products and essential oils drifted through the space, professional and welcoming, like eucalyptus softened with honey. He was struck, almost immediately, by the sense that Jenna had built something there. Not just a business, but a little empire of belonging.
He was so distracted taking in his surroundings he nearly missed the loud declaration being made regarding him.
“For the last time, I amnot, havenot, and willneverdate DeaconfuckingSt. Claire!” Jenna’s voice wasn’t shrill. It was crisp, clear, projected with the authority of someone who’d spent years commanding rooms without ever needing to raise her volume. It cut through the salon like a gong hit, leaving a vibrating echo in its wake.
Every head swiveled in unison toward the source, and then, after a beat, toward Deacon and Tabitha still standing in the entryway.
He felt Tabby’s hand tighten. She looked up, cherubic face peering at him with steadfast sincerity and borderline awe, and again stage-whispered. “Daddy, that princess said a ten dollar word and your name.”
It didn’t surprise Deacon that Tabby had clocked Jenna as a ‘princess.’ Since seeingEnchanted,his daughter wasconvincedprincesses walked among them just like AmyAdams’ character did when she fell into New York through the manhole, and Tabby wasconvincedshe had the power to spot them.
Today, Jenna wore her hair down, her thick, wavy blonde locks flowing past her mid-back. She wore a pale blue apron over a white t-shirt and jeans. She easily passed as a modern-day Cinderella. Deacon wouldn’t be surprised if she felt like one, too.
The entire salon, which was now staring at him, including Jenna who was now aware they’d walked in, and had heard his daughter's assessment.
He figured there was no reason to try and pretend any different. “She sure did. Should we see if the princess has an appointment available?”
The man at the front desk grinned. “You are in luck, the princess just had a cancellation.”
“Robbie!” Jenna beelined to the front desk.
Deacon wasn’t sure if Robbie was getting that tone because he’d also called her a princess or because he’d revealed she had a cancellation.
On her way, Robbie spoke quickly, the words tumbling from his mouth. “Kelly King rescheduled, she said her toothache got worse, she thinks it’s an impacted wisdom.”
Tabby released his hand, lifted her arms, and placed her hands on the reception desk beside a vase of wildflowers, lupine, yarrow, and mountain daisies which added a touch of unruliness to the cultivated calm. She stood on her tiptoes to speak as she peeked over the slab of repurposed butcher block, sanded and sealed to a glossy finish that stood counter height. “I’m gonna give my hair to the sick kids!”
