Page 4 of When the Fake Snow Falls

Not fake snow.

His response has me lifting a brow, but I can’t argue with him. Florida is always trying to be something it’s not by using things like fake snow. There’s nothing like looking into a storefront window and seeing the edges of the glass sprayed with white while the sun bakes into your back.

Unknown Number:

I have a thing about useless products, and nothing is more useless than fake snow.

Two sets of back-to-back texts? Interesting, but he doesn’t seem desperate. After laying eyes on him, I find it hard to believe he’d struggle for any woman’s attention.

Candace:

Can I interest you in some lights for your palm tree instead?

The bell over the salon door chimes, and I look up to find my next client stalking toward me in a sleek pencil skirt and a white blouse that dips at the neckline. Even before getting her hair done, Nicolette never falls short of flawless. She’s the type of woman who knows what she’s doing when she pieces herself together each morning.

She’s my most regular “regular.” The woman hasn’t missed an appointment since she started coming to me almost a year ago. She books a shampoo and blow dry every Tuesday and a full cut and color every six weeks. She might be a little needy,but she tips well. And since she started coming to see me, she’s referred me to all her equally well-paying friends. They make up a good chunk of my clientele now.

Taking off her oversized sunglasses, she slips them into her Louis Vuitton bag. “Candace, you are a saint. An absolute saint!”

My phone vibrates once, then twice, and I know it’s the guy from the coffee shop. Curiosity prickles in the back of my mind, but I force myself to put my phone in the cabinet and close the door as I give her a welcoming smile. “It’s nothing, really. You know I’m here,” I say in my best customer service voice. “I always have time for you.” She smiles with relief as she takes a seat in my chair. Running my fingers through her blonde strands, I ask. “So, what are we doing today?”

“The usual wash and style. I have plans at six. That’s why I wanted to come early.”

It isn’t even 2:30 p.m., and her hair never takes that long. That’s Nicolette, though. She isn’t thinking about how long her hair usually takes. She isn’t even thinking about the person I have scheduled after her who will likely havetheirhair done before six. Time means nothing to her. It’s her world, and we’re all abiding by her agenda.

“Dinner with someone special?” I ask. Maybe she’s nervous for a big date. Some people start getting ready hours ahead of time.

“Oh, not really,” she answers with a wave of her hand. “Just a work thing.”

“Ah,” I say with a nod. “Well, we’ll make sure you look great.”

She flashes a cat-like smile. “You always do.”

I put the cape around her, fasten the snap at the base of her neck, and give her my best smile. She starts to talk about her holiday plans, and I fall into my routine of reacting to her story at all the right moments with plenty of “oohs” and “aahs.” It’s an act, but it’s one I play well. There are plenty of clients I can be genuine with, but then there are the clients like her. Women like Nicolette take a little more finesse—mostly because I’m determined to stay on her good side. I’ll keep her happy if she’ll keep inching me toward a higher tax bracket.

My fingers massage and lather the shampoo into her hair, and she closes her eyes. Without her endless chatter, I let myself relax a little, too. I think about the two unread messages waiting on my phone. It’s not like we were having a serious conversation. His messages are probably equally insignificant to the one I sent him, but now that I have a break, they’re all I can think about. When some people text, they don’t know how to let their personality shine through. I didn’t get that impression from him. Texting with him feels more like having a face-to-face conversation. I can imagine his tone and inflection, and that alone makes him more interesting than most of the guys I’ve dated this year.

“Have you?”

I blink. “Have I what?”

Nicolette gives me a funny look, and I know I’m caught. Heat flushes my cheeks, and I try to remember what she was just talking about. She holds my stare for a moment like she wants me to know she’s displeased, and even though I am a confident adult for the most part, it shrinks me back into feeling like a scolded child.

“Have you ever been to Stowe for the holidays?” she asks, slowly like she needs to enunciate each word.

“Oh. Sorry, no I haven’t. Is it nice?”

“Gorgeous! You must go. It will beat any ski resort you’ve stayed at. Make sure to book early. The good lodges always fill up fast.”

I know for a fact, I wouldn’t be able to afford thegood lodgesshe’s referring to, but I give her a tight-lipped smile and assure her I’ll look into it. It always amazes me how out of touchpeople with money can be. Does she honestly believe I take the same type of trips she does with her expensive purse and designer sunglasses? What about me screams that I frequent ski resorts in Vermont? On second thought, maybe she’s just being nice. It’s always a little hard to tell with her.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Going with a someone special or friends?” I ask casually.

She gives me another funny look, and I wonder which detail about her life I’ve forgotten now. Thankfully, it doesn’t last more than a few seconds before she scoffs. “No. Men are not something you bring on vacation. Men are something you pick up along the way.” She gives me a look that I’m sure I’m supposed to reciprocate or understand, but I just chuckle.

“That’s certainly one way of doing things.”

“Don’t settle down.” She shivers like she’s shaking a bad memory. “I made that mistake four times too many.”

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