Naomi
“Surprise!” Stef said as he pulled into a parking space directly in front of Whiskey Clipper.
Uh-oh.
“What are we doing here?” I asked. “Back-to-school hair,” Stef said.
“Seriously?” Waylay asked, biting her lip. She couldn’t quite pull off the bored pre-teen vibe, and I knew it was going to be a good idea, even if it meant braving a run-in with Knox.
“Deadly, darling,” Stef said, hopping out from behind the wheel of his spiffy little Porsche SUV. He opened the back door for her. “First day of school is a fresh start for everyone. And from the reviews, this is the place for hair.”
I climbed out and joined them on the sidewalk.
Stef slung an arm around both of us. “First hair. Then lunch. Then nails.
Then fashion show for first-day outfits.” I grinned. “Outfits?”
“You’re walking Way to the bus. You need something that says ‘responsible yet hot aunt.’”
Waylay giggled. “Most moms just show up in pajamas or in sweaty workout stuff.”
“Exactly. We need to make a statement that the Witt women are fierce and fashionable.”
I rolled my eyes.
Stef caught me and crossed his arms in impatience. “What have I always told you, Naomi? And you listen to this too, Way.”
“When you look good, you feel good,” I recited. “Good girl. Now get your cute little asses in there.”
The interior of Whiskey Clipper was cooler than any salon I’d ever set foot in. Instead of the muted pastels and spa music typical in most hair establishments, here it was brick walls and ’70s rock. Black-and-white photos of Knockemout in the early part of the 20th century hung in stylish gallery frames. One entire wall was dominated by a bar of decanters and bottles of whiskey. Exotic flower arrangements occupied the low, curved front desk and the whiskey bar.
The waiting area looked more like a VIP lounge with its leather couches and glass side tables. The concrete floor was covered with a faux cowhide rug.
It felt cool, a little steam-punky. And a lot expensive.
I turned to my friend and lowered my voice. “Stef, I know you were being nice, but money—”
“Shut your stupid beautiful face, Witty. This is on me.”
He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “I didn’t get you a wedding present.”
“Why not?”
He looked at me dryly for a long beat. “Right. Of course you predicted it.”
“Look, you’re getting your ‘my fiancé likes my hair long’ shit cut into something you love. And that adorable smartass niece of ours is getting a style that is going to be more interesting to those little fuckers in the sixth grade.”
“You’re impossible to argue with, you know that?”
“You might as well save your energy and quit trying.”
“Hello, ladies and gentleman,” Jeremiah called from a station with an ornate mirror and a scarlet cape draped over the chair. “Who’s ready to change their lives today?”
Waylay sidled up to me. “Is he serious?”
Stef took her by the shoulders. “Listen, shorty. You’ve never experienced the miracle of the kind of haircut that is so good it parts the clouds and makes the angels sing. You’re in for a treat today.”
“What if I don’t like it?” she whispered.
“If you don’t like it, our next stop will be Target, and I’ll buy you every hair accessory in existence until we find the perfect way to style your new hair.”
“Your hair is yours. You get to decide what to do with it,” I assured her. “You get to decide how you show up in this world. No one else gets to
dictate to you who you are,” Stef said.
I knew he was saying it for Waylay’s benefit, but the truth resonated deep down inside me too. I’d lost myself while trying to convince someone else that I was what he wanted. I’d forgotten who I was because I’d let someone else take over the definition.
“Okay,” Waylay said. “But if I hate it, I’m going to blame you guys.” “Let’s do this,” I said with conviction.
“There she is,” Stef said, booping my nose and then Waylay’s. “Now, let’s get started.” He made a beeline for Jeremiah.
“Your friend is weird,” Waylay whispered. “I know.”
“I kinda like him.” “Yeah. Me too.”
 |
MAYBE IT WAS the second glass of champagne Jeremiah poured for me. Or maybe it was the fact that having a man’s fingers massaging my scalp and playing with my hair was a long-forgotten delight. But whatever the reason, I felt relaxed for the first time in… I couldn’t count backwards that far.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have things to worry about. There were plenty of those looming. Like the guardianship. And money. And the fact that I still hadn’t told my parents about their granddaughter.
But right now, I had a gorgeous man’s hands rubbing delicious circles into my scalp, a glass full of bubbles, and a niece who couldn’t stop giggling over whatever Stasia was saying to her while they worked on temporary lowlights.
Stef and Jeremiah were deep in conversation about hair textures and product. I wondered if I was imagining the hint of spark between the two. The lingering smiles, the long flirtatious glances.
It had been a while since Stef had been in anything resembling a relationship, and the gorgeous, talented Jeremiah was definitely his kind of catnip.
I heard the roar of a motorcycle out on the street. The engine revved once before cutting off abruptly. A few seconds later, the front door opened.
“Hey, boss,” Stasia called out.
My bubble of bliss popped.
The responding grunt had my heart trying to flutter its way out of my chest like an anxiety-ridden butterfly trapped in a glass jar.
“Stay,” Jeremiah said firmly, pressing a hand to my shoulder. I couldn’t see Knox. But I could feel his presence.
“Knox,” Stef drawled.
“Stef.” I opened my eyes, wondering when the two of them had gotten on a grudging first-name basis.
“Hey, Way,” Knox said, his voice a little softer. “Hi,” she chirped.
I heard the approach of his boots, and every muscle in my body went rigid. No woman looked good with wet hair in a salon chair. Not that I was going for alluring or anything. Although I was wearing the underwear he’d bought me.
“Naomi,” he rasped.
What was it about my name from that mouth that made my nether regions feel like they were being electrocuted? In a super s*xy, fun way.
“Knox,” I managed to choke out.
“Your face is red,” Jeremiah noted. “Is the water too hot?” Stef snickered.
I swear to God I could hear a smugness in the steady clomp of boots as they slowly retreated to the back of the shop.
Way to be cool, me.
Stef let out a low whistle from the barber chair he was occupying. “Spaaaaarks,” he sang quietly.
I raised my head out of the sink, sending a tidal wave of water over the lip of the bowl. “What is the matter with you?” I hissed. “Shut. Up.”
He raised his palms in surrender. “Fine. Sorry.”
As Jeremiah gently stuffed me back into the sink, I fumed. I didn’t want or need sparks and I certainly didn’t want or need anyone else calling attention to them.
Jeremiah wrapped a towel around my sodden hair and led me back to his station. Waylay was in the chair behind me, discussing cut and style options with Stasia and Stef.
“So. How do we feel about getting rid of some dead weight?” Jeremiah asked, holding my gaze in the mirror. He hefted the bulk of my damp hair in one hand and held it above my shoulders.
“We feel really good about that,” I decided.
|
I WAS mid-second-thought panic as Jeremiah aggressively snipped his way through my long hair when Knox returned with a cup of coffee and some kind of short, leather apron over his worn jeans. With his tattoo-adorned arms, the ruthlessly trimmed beard, and those scarred motorcycle boots, he looked like the definition of a man.
Our eyes locked in the mirror, and my breath caught in my throat.
After a too-long beat, Knox whistled and hooked his thumb at the client in the waiting area. The man hefted his tall frame out of the chair and lumbered back.
“How’s it going, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay called from behind me. “Still look like a wet mop?”
Kids were jerks.
“She’s being transformed as we speak,” Jeremiah promised, sliding his long fingers through my significantly shorter hair. I choked back a purr.
“How’s your hair?” I asked my niece. “Blue. I like it.”
She said it with a mix of reverence and excitement that had me smiling. I gave up worrying about whether or not I was overcompensating and turning Waylay into an entitled brat and decided to just go with it.
“How blue? Like Smurfette blue?” “Who’s Smurfette?” Waylay asked.
“Who’s Smurfette?” Stasia scoffed. I heard her rummaging through her pockets and then the telltale sound of the Smurf theme song coming from a phone. “That’s Smurfette.”
“Wish my hair was as long as hers,” Waylay said wistfully.
“You cut it pretty short before you came in here. But it’ll grow,” Stasia told her with confidence.
Waylay was silent for a moment, and I craned my neck for a glimpse of her in the mirror. “I didn’t cut it,” she said, eyes meeting mine.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” Stasia asked.
“I didn’t cut it,” Waylay said again. “My mom did. As a punishment. Couldn’t ground me ’cause she was never around. So she chopped off my hair.”
“That fucking b—ouch!”
I kicked Stef then spun my chair around.
Waylay shrugged at the suddenly silent adults around her. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
That’s what she’d told herself. I remembered the tidy bins of hair accessories in her old bedroom. Tina had taken something from her, something she’d taken pride in.
Stef and Stasia looked to me, and I searched for the right words to make this okay.
But someone beat me to it.
Knox dropped the razor on a metal tray with a clang and crossed to Waylay’s chair. “You get that that was a dick move, right?”
“Knox, language,” I hissed.
He ignored me. “What your mom did was born out of a place of unhappiness and meanness inside her. It had nothing to do with you. You didn’t cause it or deserve it. She was just being an asshole, yeah?”
Waylay’s eyes narrowed as if she were waiting for the punchline. “Yeah?” she said tentatively.
He nodded briskly. “Good. I don’t know why your mom does the things she does. I don’t really want to know. Something’s broke inside her, and that makes her treat others like shit. Got it?”
Waylay nodded again.
“Your Aunt Naomi over there isn’t like that. She’s not broken. She’ll probably still fuck up now and then, but that’s cause she’s human, not broken. Which is why when you mess up—and you will cause you’re human too—there has to be a consequence. It won’t be cutting your hair or not making you dinner. It’ll be boring shit like chores and grounding and no TV. Got it?”
“I got it,” she said quietly.
“From here on out, if anyone says they have a right to decide what to do with your body, kid, you kick ’em in the ass, then come find me,” Knox told her.
Well, hell. The man’s hotness had just escalated into underwear melting territory.
“And me,” Stef agreed.
Jeremiah gave her a level look. “Me too.”
Waylay’s lips quirked and she was having a hard time keeping her smile under wraps. I, on the other hand, suddenly felt a little damp in the eye and underwear areas.
“Then when they’re done kicking ass, you come find me,” Stasia said. “And me. But preferably me first before anyone goes to jail,” I added. “Party pooper,” Jeremiah teased.
“You got it, Way?” Knox pressed.
The tiniest of smiles played on her lips. “Yeah. I got it,” she said.
“In that case, let’s get back to giving you the best haircut in the world,” Stasia said with extra cheer.
My phone buzzed in my lap, and I glanced at the screen.
Stef: Told you your sister was a gigantic waste of DNA.
I sighed and tossed him a glare, then typed.
Me: I’m first in line for face punching when she turns up. Stef: Good girl. Also, I added a bikini wax to your mani-pedi. Me: Mean! Why?
Stef: Growly Tattoo Guy deserves to get laid after that speech. Also, Jer is fifty shades of gorgeous.
“Agree on both counts,” Jeremiah said from where he was reading over my shoulder.
Stef laughed while I turned six shades of scarlet. “What are you agreeing to?” Knox demanded.
I clutched my phone to my chest and spun myself around to face the mirror. “Nothing. No one is agreeing to anything,” I said sharply.
“Face is burning up, Daisy,” Knox observed.
I considered crawling under my cape like a turtle and hiding there for the rest of my life. But then Jeremiah put his magic hands in my hair and did something lovely to my scalp, and I began to relax against my will.
Everyone went back to other conversations while I snuck surreptitious glances in Knox’s direction.
Not only had the man just given a little girl a hero, he also appeared to be a competent barber. I’d never considered haircuts s*xy until this moment as Knox, arm muscles flexing, trimmed and shaped his client’s thick, dark hair.
Lots of mundane things were s*xy when Knox Morgan was doing them. “Ready for the razor?” he asked gruffly.
“You know it,” the man mumbled from under the hot towel on his face.
I watched in fascination as Knox got to work with a straight razor and a sweet-smelling shaving cream on his friend’s face.
It felt more relaxing than all those pressure washing videos I’d binged while planning the wedding. Straight clean lines leaving behind nothing but smooth shine.
“You really should think about it,” Jeremiah whispered as he liberated a curling iron from a tool organizer.
“Think about what?”
He caught my eye in the mirror and tilted his head in Knox’s direction. “Hard pass.”
“Self-care maintenance,” he said. “I beg your pardon?”
“Some women get manicures. Some get massages or go for therapy. Some hit the gym or their favorite bottle of Shiraz. But the best self-care maintenance, in my opinion, is regular, earth-shattering orgasms.”
This time I felt even the tips of my ears go pink.
“I just ran away from a groom and a wedding. I think my tank is topped off for a while,” I whispered.
Jeremiah deftly worked his way through my hair with the barrel of the iron. “Suit yourself. But don’t you dare waste this style.”
With a flourish, he whipped the cape from me and pointed at my reflection.
“Holy sh—crap.” I leaned in, shoving my fingers into the touchable chin-length bob. My dark brown hair now had russet highlights and curled in what I liked to call “s*x waves.”
Stef let out a wolf whistle. “Damn, Nomi.”
I’d spent two years growing my hair out for the perfect wedding updo because Warner liked long hair. Two years planning a wedding that didn’t happen. Two years wasted, when I could have looked like this. Confident. Stylish. S*xy as hell. Even my eyes looked brighter, my smile bigger.
Warner Dennison III was officially done taking things from me.
“What do you think, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay asked. She stepped in front of me. Her blonde hair was cut short with a sweep of sleek bangs over one eye. A subtle blue teased through from the bottom layers.
“You look like you’re sixteen,” I groaned.
Waylay gave her hair an experimental toss. “I like it.” “I love it,” I assured her.
“And with a sassy new cut, we’ll be able to coax some length out of your hair if you want to grow it long again,” Stasia told her.
She tucked a strand behind her ear and looked at me. “Maybe short hair isn’t so bad after all.”
“Stasia, Jeremiah, you’re miracle workers,” Stef said, pulling cash out of his wallet and pressing it into their hands.
“Thank you,” I said, offering first Stasia and then Jeremiah a hug. Knox’s eyes met mine in the mirror over Jeremiah’s shoulder. I released him and looked away. “Seriously. This was amazing.”
“Where are we going now?” Waylay wanted to know, still staring at herself in the mirror with that tiny smile on her lips.
“Nails,” Stef said. “Your aunt’s hands look like talons.”
I felt the weight of cool blue-gray eyes on me and looked up. Knox watched me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t tell if he was smoldering or pissed off. “See ya around, boss.”
I carried the weight of his attention with me as I strutted for the door.
|
DEAR MOM AND DAD,
I hope you’re having the best time on your cruise! I can’t believe three weeks is almost up.
Things here are good. I have some news for you. Actually, it’s really Tina’s news. Okay. Here goes. Tina has a daughter. Which means you have a granddaughter. Her name is Waylay. She’s eleven years old and I’m watching her for Tina for a while.
She’s really great.
Call me when you get home and I’ll tell you the whole story. Maybe Waylay and I can drive up for a weekend so you can meet her.
Love, Naomi
