Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
She was the one cutting his hair.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
If not for the Rolex on his wrist that she’d noticed earlier, she might have thought he was in management. A suit people would listen to. Didn’t those sorts of people need a litany of communication skills? No manager she knew had the kind of money for a five-to-ten-thousand-dollar watch, though.
The disappointment slipping through Delaney after she’d pulled away the cape, and Lucas stood from the chair to get a better look in the mirror confused her—those twenty minutes flew by before she realized she could have taken a few extra minutes.
At least, he smiled about the cut.
Lucas brushed his palm back and forth over the short crop of his hair, messing it up in much the same way she had done to style it. “It’s perfect, thank you.”
“You sure you don’t want maybe an inch of fade up your neck? It’ll look great, trust me.”
The man only shook his head. “I’ll never hear the end of it until it grows back in, trust me.”
So, it was someone else who didn’t like the look on him. What a damn shame.
“Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
Lucas turned with his lips stretching wide. “I’m glad I landed in your chair this morning. I should have got this trimmed up before I left, but I definitely couldn’t go back with it looking the way it did.”
Delaney frowned openly. “You looked fine when you came in. You look great now, too.”
She only said it because it was the truth, and his insistence that even a small bit of growth to his short style meant he must look unkempt was plain bullshit.
He shrugged, already slipping on his blazer. “I suppose the two of us will have to agree to disagree. How much do I owe you?”
At the front of the salon, the bell chimed. Delaney waved at the young woman, bundled in a parka with a faux fur trimmed hood, who glanced her way immediately.
Her next client. The one she’d booked a little after the start of her shift so she had enough time to shake off the morning jitters.
Before a walk-in named Lucas filled her chair.
Oh, well.
“Linda can get you paid up,” Delaney told Lucas. “I gotta get the chair ready for my next client.”
“Will do,” he agreed, nodding. “Thanks again, eh?”
Delaney stepped to the side, allowing the man out around the chair. “I’m glad you like it.” Then, she noticed an item he left behind. “Oh, don’t forget your Bible?”
Lucas’ next step hesitated, and he glanced over his shoulder. HIs gaze narrowed at the item dangling from her throat. “Are you a Christian?”
She had to think about it.
The answer was too complicated and would take a conversation they simply didn’t have time for, nor would she share those intimate details of her life with a stranger that wore a nice smile. She could, and did, opt to whittle the truth down.
“I used to be,” she admitted.
“Keep it? Or toss it,” Lucas said just as fast. “I was trying to hold onto something—it’s not working for me.”
Sometimes, that was the harder reality to accept.
Delaney understood.
Preaching had never been her thing despite growing up in an ultra religious, fundamentalist family. She hadn’t been the person who liked getting up in front of the congregation to pass along the Lord’s word. Over time, she figured out that nobody really needed any of the things the person who stood at the pulpit said they did to be a follower of Christ.
“If you’re trying to find a way to talk to God, just talk to Him,” Delaney said. “Nothing in that Bible really gets around to explaining that part, but if it’s what you’re looking for, He listens. Just talk.”
Lucas chewed on his inner, lower lip before muttering, “Yeah, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
She didn’t toss the Bible—even if she had no plans to read it, surely she could find someone who would. It remained on the edge of the workstation as she cleaned up the chair, and her next client took the seat. Lucas was shrugging on his wool jacket near the front, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the women in the salon who couldn’t help themselves but watch the man ready to leave.
“I want to do something … shaggy,” said the girl in Delaney’s chair.
“You know, it’s not really a style you can just do nothing for, right?” she asked. “It takes a bit of work to get it to look like a shag is purposeful.”
The client didn’t get the chance to respond.
The stylist who worked in the chair next to Delaney’s moved to the power bar plugged in between their two stations. Whether she meant to change a cord out or remove one, whatever she yanked on sent sparks and a plume of black smoke rising.