Page 91 of Hold Me Today

His fingers draw a random design on my back. “I’ll never be able to look at the church spire without thinking of you.”

“The one inked in your skin or the wooden one?”

I feel his wide smile against the top of my head. “Both. Definitely both.”

30

Nick

“All right, boys, who’s ready?”

I look up from where I’m installing one of the sleek, black styling chairs Mina spent a small fortune on. Standing next to the first one I put in this morning, Mina makes acome-sit-downgesture with her arms to Bill and Mark. Vince already went, the cheeky bastard jumping into the chair the moment Mina even offered to do a little trim.

Bill folds next. “Yup,” he says, rubbing a hand over his messy hair, “I could definitely use a trim.” He sets down the drill he used to screw the five-and-a-half foot tall, silver-embossed mirror into the floor. Six mirrors sit on either side of the room—officially the first furnitureAgapewelcomed within its walls. Mina spent the entire morning bouncing around, Windex in one hand and a rag in the other, spraying them all down until they shined to glossy perfection. Her excitement is contagious, and even though the boys and I should be heading over to the museum to finish off the rest of the work day, I couldn’t resist getting started on the styling chairs.

After three weeks of putting in the time and sweat,Agapeis finally beginning to look like a real salon.

“Come and take a seat!” Mina steps beside Bill and, with her palms on his back, she steers him toward one of the chairs. “What’re we thinking today? Just a trim? Maybe bring down the sides and leave the top a little longer?”

Bill sends me a quick, panicked glance over his left shoulder.

I have no idea what he’s looking at me for—I’ve spent my entire life dealing with hair that will not be tamed, no matter what I do with it.

“Shave it all,” Vince shouts from the hallway. “If I can’t see his head, it’s not short enough!”

“Could be a good look,” I muse out loud, one hand resting on my bent knee. “How’s your head shaped, Billy? Oval? Triangle? Maybe a little penis-shaped?”

Bill’s feet lock tight on the floor, unmoving. “Bald is not a good option for me.”

Bless her hilarious humor, Mina does nothing but pick up a pair of shears and hold them up high like she’s a doctor about to go in for heart surgery. “Take a seat, Billy.”Snip, snip. “I have a vision and onlyyoucan help me bring it to life.”

Bill’s eyes pop open wide.

Mark, on the other hand, laughs so loud he drops his hands to his knees and nearly collapses. “Oh, man. If you ever decide to quit doing hair, I think you’ve got a future in horror movies ahead of you.”

“Who says I’m just playing around?” Mina steps forward, shears still snipping threateningly at the air. Behind her back, she waves a hand to keep us quiet. And even though my guys don’t know her well, we’re all completely aware that she’s full of shit—except for Bill, who looks ready to piss himself if that little dance-dance-dance-shuffle he’s doing is any indication.

“Dude,” Vince says to Bill, head sticking out from the hallway, “if you can’t handle a woman with a pair of scissors, how the hell do you plan to survive the zombie apocalypse?”

“Valid point.” I sink back on my heels, the drill lax in my hand. “Mina, give him your worst.”

Her light laughter precedes her giving Bill a little nudge into the chair. He acquiesces, but only just barely. For the next twenty minutes, she spritzes his hair until it’s damp—shampoo bowls aren’t coming in till tomorrow—and then happily brings down his wild mane to a respectable cut that she claims shows off his features perfectly.

I don’t know whether Bill’s actually got himself some perfect features, but even I can admit the style she’s gone for makes him look a few years younger.

While she blow-dries his hair, I return to installing the second-to-last chair. My time spent here inAgapeis almost at an end. Besides the shampoo bowls, there’s not much left to do—the bathroom is done and looking “chic and elegant,” just as Mina wanted. The parlor doors, although a bitch to install, are also looking pretty. I went for a dark rosewood stain to complement the cream-colored walls Mina opted for in the two back rooms.

The last major task comes in the form of the mural I’m surprising her with. It’s not ideal, having someone paint the ceiling when we’ve already put in the slate floors and furniture, but beggars can’t be choosers. Before we leave for Maine this weekend, I’ll be here with Vince, covering everything with sheets and tarps so that my buddy can come in and finish it all up before we get back on Sunday.

I hope Mina likes it.

Screw that, I hope she fucking loves it and thinks of me every time she looks up after a long day in the salon.

I nail the last chair down, flicking off the drill and setting it aside. Lifting my arm, I scrub the back of my gloved hand against my damp forehead. I’m not ready for this arrangement with Mina to end, and I’ve lost a lot of sleep this week trying to figure out how to broach theRword with her. A relationship, the one thing she avoids like the plague.

Except that, in the last few weeks, it certainly hasn’t seemed like she’s been avoiding it all that much. She suggests us getting together to hang out just as much as I do. We call each other throughout the day: between clients for her, who she sees at their houses, and jobsites for me. It feels . . . domesticated, almost, like we’ve been seeing each other romantically for years.

Forget the fact that I’veknownher for years or that she’s my sister’s best friend, this thing with Mina feels right. It feelspermanent. And I can’t help but think long-term: how she might look in a wedding gown, whether any kids we might have will inherit her honey eyes or my gray ones.

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