Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I checked in at the desk. Lindsey was working on Jennifer Taylor, the receptionist at the Methodist church, while another stylist was working on Michael Downing, whose sister Melissa had been two grades above me in school.
The waiting area was full of men and women eager to spruce themselves up before the night’s festivities. I was seventh in line and settled in to wait. Sally Dyson eyed me from behind her People magazine before giving up the charade and poking me in the knee.
“I heard Lincoln Matthews is working at the lumberyard,” she said.
I nodded without engaging.
“I heard he was injured,” Sally continued.
“Yes,” I said, determined not to be drawn in.
“Mary Beth saw him.” Sally smiled conspiratorially, even though there were two people between us and the entire salon was listening. “She said he was hot.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I responded.
The two stylists worked their way patiently through the crowd, giving each customer their full attention. It was approaching seven by the time my turn came around.
“How late are you open?” I asked, sitting down in Lindsey’s chair.
“Eight on Friday and Saturday nights,” Lindsey said.
“Must make for a long day.”
She shrugged. “We don’t open until noon.”
“You certainly have a lot of business.” I stared at my image in the mirror as she circled my neck with a plastic drop cloth.
“We’ve been fortunate,” she smiled. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“I just want a trim,” I answered. “Make me look nice.”
“Is there a particular someone you want to look nice for?” She was too savvy to be fooled.
I blushed. “No.”
She spritzed my locks with water. “If you want to talk, I’m a vault.”
“Thanks,” I said with a sigh. There was only one person left in the waiting area, and it wasn’t Sally Dyson. There was music playing so that no one could hear our conversation. The flood gates opened and I poured all my misgivings into a rambling confession. “It’s Lincoln. Ever since he came back to town, I’ve been all tied up in knots.”
“He’s the topic of more than one woman’s speculation,” Lindsey agreed.
“I thought you said you were a vault,” I complained.
“I am.” She winked. “I won’t tell you who was talking about him, but I don’t think I’m breaking any confidences by saying that people are talking.”
“He’s very attractive,” I said. “He’s got this mystery about him. I wonder if he’s thinking all these deep thoughts or if he’s just shy. He doesn’t say much.”
“Looks like you may get a chance to find out,” Lindsey said cryptically.
“What?” I asked.
She pointed at the mirror with her comb, and I caught sight of the door opening behind me. As if we had conjured him up by saying his name too many times, Lincoln walked in. He stepped up to Tammy’s desk and gave his name. Lindsey deliberately swiveled my chair so that he could see who it was she was working on.
I found myself staring right at him, wearing that ridiculous nylon gown. His face went from passive to interested in a heartbeat, causing my blood to quicken. I smiled back. Outside of work, it didn’t seem so difficult to make conversation.
“Hey, Aly,” he said.
“Hi, Linc,” I answered.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, as if the answer weren’t obvious.
“Haircut,” I said. “You?”
He ran a hand across his head, the hair having sprouted just barely past regulation buzz cut. “I can’t decide if I want to keep it short.”
“I think it looks nice,” I said.
“It feels hot,” he answered.
“You could try something less military,” Lindsey suggested. “Like a four on top, two on the sides.”
Lincoln looked at me as if my opinion meant something. I tried to imagine him with a styled haircut and failed. I couldn’t see him with anything other than a shaved head. As it was now, his hair was still shorter than most people’s.
Lincoln read hesitation in my eyes and smiled. “I think I’ll go for a buzz.”
“You could try something more stylish,” I offered.
“But it wouldn’t suit me,” he answered, having identified my concern correctly.
“It would make you look different,” I answered diplomatically.
“I don’t want anything too fancy,” he decided.
Lindsey nodded her head. “How’s work?”
“It’s fine.” He hung around the middle of the room, not moving to the waiting area but not crowding me.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, and since Lindsey still had her fingers in my hair, I let the conversational ball drop. Lincoln looked down at the floor awkwardly. Now was the time that he should move away, and we could pretend that our attempt at friendly banter had been successful. He didn’t retreat though. Instead, he stepped closer.
“Your hair looks really nice,” he said softly as Lindsey finished the cut.
I blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”
I vacated the seat and went to the register to pay. Lincoln sat down in the chair I had been in and I lingered. “How’s your leg?”