Page 3 of Beauty and the Grease (Midlife Meet Cute #4)

Jenny

This is madness. I’m three steps ahead of Chase, forcing myself to keep my cool. The heater in the truck turned my hair into mangy terrier frizz. It’s always been my fantasy to look like a wet dog as I pick up my rich ex in a clown-themed tow truck.

The bell chimes as we cross through the back entrance.

“This…is a hair salon,” Chase says behind me.

Right, he doesn’t know. “Yeah, I own both storefronts. They’re connected from the inside—see that open doorway up front? It goes to the auto shop. The salon rents from me and we use the area over there as our waiting room. Bonus: get your hair cut while you wait. Not like you need to.”

A polite smile freezes on his face. No surprise there. This is the guy who spent more than my old perms for a trim. He’s the very image of privileged and hasn’t changed one bit.

“Did you name the salon?” He points to the retro-lettered sign set against exposed brick. Jenny’s Auto + Twisted Scissors

“No, that’s all Annabelle. She runs the salon. I’m her favorite client.”

“I heard that!” Annabelle calls over from a salon station, clippers in hand. “Benny right here is my favorite. He tips in real dollars.”

I scoff and wave her off. “Feel free to wait here until you figure out your ride situation,” I tell Chase.

“What about my car? How long will it take to get fixed?”

“For the flat? Not long. But you hit a pothole, right?”

He sighs. “I heard a thunk when I went into the ditch. When I tried to back out, the sound it was making…I don’t know. Then the wheels were spinning in the wet grass. I couldn’t move.”

His cheeks redden. He doesn’t know cars. That’s fine. A lot of people don’t. “I’m not a mechanic, I just own the place, so we’ll get one of the crew on it. Benny!” I call over to one of the hair stations. “You only here for an oil change or are you getting that fuel pump finally taken care of?”

I’m aware of Chase watching me as this dialogue progresses. Suddenly, it’s all sorts of funny. After Benny promises he’s getting the fuel pump looked at after all, I turn back to Chase. “Your mother would be horrified at my life.”

Chase’s jaw slackens. He shakes his head. “Maybe not. She’s mellowed out quite a bit. After the grandkids.”

A little sting runs through me hearing about Chase’s kids. I wish I wasn’t curious, but I am. He has this entire life I know nothing about. Then again, I have my own life he can continue to be perplexed by.

“My son peed on her the first time she changed his diaper.”

I snort out a laugh. “No. What did she do?”

“‘Ahhhh!’” Chase mimics a squeal in a high-pitched voice, flailing his arms around.

“Sounds about right.” Chase’s mother is who tweed skirted suits were invented for.

And those little crustless sandwiches served at tea parties.

Chase and his brother were largely cared for by a nanny until the boys attended school full time, so it shocks me that his mother even offered to switch out a diaper.

Maybe the woman had changed. “Well, I suppose it all worked out for the best.”

Too late I realize my blunder. What worked out, his marriage that ended?

He doesn’t say anything, so I leave our conversation hanging and dash into the adjoining auto repair to save face. And oh, I should see about Chase’s car.

“Who’s the hottie?” Kara asks the second I’m at the front desk.

“What? No.” I shake my head. “No.”

She peers through the glass window beside the desk with a view directly into the adjoining salon’s waiting room. “I see a hottie. A business hottie. Older, but like, your age older.”

I flick a stray paper clip her direction. Kara is not of my generation, which she enjoys reminding me. I have socks older than Kara. I might even have them on right now.

“He’s figuring out a rental. His car might need to stay overnight.”

“He’s probably married, right?” She inches closer to the window. “Is he wearing a ring?”

I feel stupid to know the answer. “They can see you, you know,” I hiss instead.

“What’s his name?”

This is going to be a long day. “Chase. Now, will you—”

“Chase. I like it.”

I cross into the garage, letting my staff know the latest on our new repair. Thankfully, the mechanics aren’t chatty today.

To my horror, Kara has vacated her station. She’s in the salon talking to Chase. I zip past the empty desk through the open doorway to the salon.

Chase better not leak anything incriminating. Nobody in Derby knows we were married—heck, nobody in Derby knows I was ever married. And according to the state, we never were, anyway. The beauty, and curse, of annulments.

“Did Kara offer you coffee?” I look pointedly at her. “We have coffee. We even have flavored creamer.”

Kara doesn’t shed any vibes she’s heard juicy details. She does glare at me, though. She’s made it clear multiple times she is not a barista and her duties are limited to front desk only.

“I’ll get you coffee,” I tell Chase at the same time he says, “I’m good. Sort of covered in it.” He gestures to his wrinkled, lightly damp pants.

Don’t look at his pants. “We have a local roast,” I blurt. “The Derby Bean supplies us. They have excellent Yelp ratings, and you know how messed-up Yelp reviews can be.” I can’t stop talking.

“Is that the coffee over there?” Chase abruptly stands and points to the obvious coffee station four steps away. “I can get my own coffee.”

I just know Kara is watching this with a smirk. It’s her fault anyway for calling him a hottie and getting me flustered.

“He’s headed to Lake Martin Retreat Center—you know where that is, don’t you?” Kara asks in a sing-songy tone as Chase serves himself coffee he doesn’t want.

“I’ve heard of it.” It’s another maybe ten miles north. Not a far drive and not worth the hassle of a rental.

“Maybe I could drive him.” Kara looks deep into my eyes when she says this. She has no interest in driving Chase anywhere.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” Chase says. “A rental will be fine. Do you have any cars here?”

“Nearest rental facility is eight miles away,” Kara answers for me. “And they’re all out.”

“All out?” both Chase and I repeat at once.

She grins. “Rental shortage. Spring Creek keeps me updated. We’ll have to wait for Auburn Hills, and that could take a whiiile.”

This hits the exact button on Chase to initiate a stress response. His breathing quickens and he checks his watch. “I can probably miss the afternoon icebreaker, but if I’m too late then—”

“It’s fine, I can drive you.” I don’t make eye contact with Chase, but I do spy Kara grinning ear to excessively-pierced ear.

“I’ll be okay—” Chase says when I add, “It’s no big deal.”

It’s not lost on me how we keep talking over each other. While getting back into an enclosed space with Chase is the last thing I want, driving him will get him where he needs to go and, bonus, gets him out of here. The sooner I get Chase out of Derby, the sooner I can forget this ever happened.

Well, except for when he picks up his car. Another problem for another day when I’ll call in sick.

Annabelle appears with a broom in hand. Today, her jet black hair is rolled and pinned like a 1940s starlet.

She’s a single mom of two teenagers and we’re close in age (forty-smorty-something-something).

I admire her ability to reinvent her look.

My hair has been stuck in the same shoulder length non-style for the past decade.

While I used to be immediately identified as a redhead, my hair has faded to strawberry blond, like the LaCroix version of a redhead.

Add to that, a white streak developed since my fortieth birthday.

“Storm’s coming.” Annabelle nods toward the front window. “The cold front mixing with our recent heat could mean a supercell in the works.”

Everyone in Derby is a part-time meteorologist, by the way. At least in their eyes.

Chase sighs with impatience. “Storms, really? Just what I need.” He runs a hand through his expertly trimmed hair.

A pulse hits my fingertips, remembering how his hair felt beneath my own hands. The soft tingle in that spot beneath the back of my nail and the pad of each finger. I pivot toward the wall, my heart hammering. It’s like my body is calling up feelings from cold storage. Deep cold storage.

One of the mechanics arrives to save the day. “Sir? Are you the owner of the Audi? I can show you the damage and let you know what we can do.”

Chase follows, giving my heart a chance to explain itself.

Annabelle raises a drawn-on brow. “So what’s the story between you two?”

Kara gasps. “See? I told you there was chemistry!”

“Told her? When?” I look between them. “Never mind.” What they don’t cover in texts plays out in telepathic looks. Instant friends, these two, the second I hired Kara to run the front desk. I’ve never seen non-verbal communication handled so well.

Annabelle shrugs. “He’s a nice-looking guy, is all.”

Nice looking, sure. Pure poison, more like. A trap wrapped in salt-and-pepper hair and a business suit.

Annabelle eyes me. She and I have hit it off well since she set up her salon, but I haven’t told her I used to be married.

It’s just not a thing I tell people. What’s there to say?

We dated responsibly for several years, but little did we know, his family hated my guts and went nuclear when we ran off and married without telling them?

I believed then that love conquered all. Plus, I’m a pretty great person, according to my friends and family, and figured Chase’s parents would eventually come around to see that.

Oh, they came around alright. Came right around with an attorney and threats.

Chase returns and summarizes in not-car-guy terms what’s wrong with his Audi. I hate to admit I like that the parts require special order and the labor costs will help our bottom line. At least there’s a financial boost in exchange for today’s emotional turmoil.

He checks his watch again.

I need to get him out of here before Annabelle or Kara start grilling him. “I’ll grab my keys from the office.”

He shifts his weight, looking at the restaurant across the street instead of at me. He’s clean shaven, but with a slight hint of beard growth. When we were together, his skin had been smooth. Untouched by life. That’s what strikes me most about him now. He looks like he’s lived.

And as the unfairness of life of goes, the extra living looks good on him. Figures.

I tend to get compliments for not looking my age, but I owe a hefty chunk of gratitude to daily SPF on my fair skin and my old gal Retinol. Honorable mention to Clairol Nice’n Easy. I wish this day was nice and easy.

In my personal office, I switch out my work shirt, damp from rain, and swap my boots for slide-on sneakers. I grab the cardigan hanging on the back of the desk chair. Might as well get this over with.