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CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

AMBER

“You really do like my hair?” Ford asks.

My eyes snap up to meet his, not realizing he was watching me as I mourned each snip of those gorgeous locks that rested on his brow. His shiny brown eyes look directly into mine, so curious.

I smile slightly, hoping he won’t notice I’m a little embarrassed that he caught me staring. “It’s just so thick and shiny. You don’t realize how envious girls are of it. And you cut it all off and keep it short. It’s a pity, but I get it. I know how you hate it to touch your ears.”

Ford shrugs, earning a glare from Peter. “Please hold still or I’ll accidentally get your ear.”

Ford snorts a laugh, then his eyes meet mine again. “All these years I’ve been marveling at your vibrant red hair, just for you to be doing the same to my boring brown.”

My body warms. Memories of all Ford’s comments about my hair over the years make me feel a little lighter. Ford was the first one who admired my hair, especially after hearing all of my mother’s demeaning comments about how unfortunate it was that I was a ginger, taking after my scumbag of a father—her words, not mine.

But Ford’s fascination with my hair color when we were kids, and his few but very honest compliments of the color, made me fall in love with having red hair. Made me realize how unique it was. Sometimes I’d catch him staring at my hair.

And now here I was, staring at his. Wishing I was the one giving the haircut, feeling the thick, smooth strands floating through my hands. Soaking in the warmth of his skin as my fingers ran along his neck, over his ears, and through his hair. When a shiver runs down my spine, I grit my teeth. What the hell, Amber? Don’t be weird. You’re becoming just like every other woman on the planet having fantasies about Ford Remington…your best friend. Your only friend.

Can I continue blaming these feelings on post-partum hormones? I glance down at Nella, and as if she can read my mind. She looks up at me and scrunches her nose. I’m pretty sure that was a no .

I’m so deep in my own thoughts, the jingle from the door makes me jolt in surprise.

Peter grins at the newcomer, a very stylish woman who’s probably around sixty. Her black hair is styled in a pixie cut, which complements her shiny red earrings. She’s wearing skinny black jeans and a flowy white top with little, black polka dots.

“Well, if it isn’t the boss lady! I wasn’t expecting you today, Darla.”

Darla grins at him, dropping the large box she’s carrying onto the floor then gracefully moving toward us.

“I had to restock some of our hair color,” she tells him, her focus then turning to Ford’s head. “This fade looks perfect.” She admires the haircut, but not the man .

Something inside me eases that she’s not ogling Ford. Even though she’s old enough to be his mother. She’s simply studying a great haircut, and I can respect that.

Peter nods his thanks. “Darla, this is Amber,” Peter says, jutting his chin in my direction. “I believe she wanted to talk to you.” He winks at me.

Her slim face turns toward me and I say a silent prayer that I age as well as she has. “Hi, Amber. Why don’t you follow me to the back while I put the color away? Then we can chat.”

“Of course,” I agree, widening my eyes at Ford. He smiles at me and extends his arms to take Nella.

Peter must notice my hesitation and says, “I’m done with the cut now, sweetheart. I’m just going to style him up a bit.”

That’s all it takes to convince me to give my arms a break while I talk to the salon owner, and I hand her over. Nella, of course, kicks and coos. Happy to be back with her favorite guy.

I follow Darla to the back room. It’s very organized, with a whole wall of tiny cubbies, dedicated to housing all the different hair color formulas. The opposite wall is full of more storage cubes. These are labeled with tabs, so everything is easy to find. I’ve never seen a salon so organized.

She hefts the box of color down and rubs her back before she gets to work restocking the color wall. “I’m getting too old for this.” Darla chuckles.

I laugh, then bend and take some from the box and help her.

“So, I just moved here from Ohio. I worked at a salon there for fifteen years and loved the work. Your salon is gorgeous, and I’d love to rent a booth here, if you have anything available,” I tell her, getting right to the point.

She pauses, resting a hand on her hip. “Amber, right?”

I nod .

“Amber, I’d love to hire you, but we don’t have any free booths right now.” She quirks a brow. “Unless you’d like to buy it, then I can finally retire.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Sadly, I’d make a terrible manager. I just like the creative side of the job.”

She chuckles. “All right, why don’t you leave me your number? I’ll call you the moment a booth opens up.”

Hiding my disappointment, I smile. “Yes, of course. That would be great.”

“I love your hair, by the way. Did you do it yourself?” She asks, back to her task.

“I did,” I say. “I love pink.”

“You and me both, girl.” Darla winks.

After Ford pays for his haircut, and we’re in the truck driving home, he asks me how my talk with Darla went. By the set of his jaw, and the concern written all over his face, I think he already knows. But I tell him anyway.

“They don’t have any booths available right now.” I square my shoulders and offer him a smile. “But that’s okay.” My voice comes out a little squeaky. “I still need to transfer my cosmetology license, and you know, get my heart fixed.”

The joke doesn’t land, and he frowns, turning his head slightly so I can see him narrowing his eyes through his glasses.

As much as I miss the dark waves that rested on his forehead, the short cut really does suit him. Not every man has a good head shape, but Ford does. And with a jawline that looks like it was carved from marble by Michelangelo himself, the short haircut is devastating.

“Sorry, I was trying to keep things light. But honestly, I’d really love to work there. The owner was nice. She obviously runs the place well, and the location is perfect.”

Ford nods. “Well, hopefully next month something will change, and they’ll have an opening.”

“Yeah, hopefully.”