Page 4 of Everlasting Promises

Ugh. I hate it when clients do this, and Mrs. Davies has done it before. She ended up hating what I did to her hair, even though it looked amazing. I raise my eyebrows with a fake grin—another thing I’ve mastered—as I run my fingers through the fine, wet strands. “So, you won’t mind if I dye it hot pink and give you a mohawk?”

Her whole body shakes as she chuckles. “Well, no … I mean yes, obviously, I don’t want anything like that. Be sensible, dear.”

I somehow suppress an eye roll. “How about bangs? Are you ready for that much of a change? I could layer the hair here”—I slide my fingers through a portion of hair on each side of her face—“so it frames your face. It would give you more movement and a fresh look.”

She draws her mouth into a thin line. “Hmm, that would mean I have to come back to see you more often to keep my bangs out of my eyes. I’m not sure I like that idea.”

“If I make them long enough for you to still pull back into a high ponytail, you wouldn’t need such regular maintenance. I know how busy you are,” I suggest.

She nods as her cheeks rise slowly. “Yes, I think that sounds perfect.”

“Great.”

I separate portions of her hair and twist them, holding them in place with sectioning clips, then start cutting an inch off the length. As I cut her hair, we chat about the latest episode ofThe Bachelor.

“That brunette girl … what’s her name?”

I rummage through my memory and the girls that are left. “Bianca?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I want her to win. She’s a real sweetheart.”

I grin. “She is, but I think he’s more interested in Candy’s boobs. He’s always talking to them.”

Mrs. Davies chuckles. “I think you might be right.”

Once I’m happy with the cut, I blow dry and straighten her silver-streaked hair, using my fingers to comb it into position. “There, what do you think?” She turns her head side to side, and I hold a mirror up behind her so she can see the layers I’ve added. “It’s still long enough to tie up for everyday convenience, but you now have some volume and movement for when you want to leave it down.”

“I love it, Hope. As usual, you’ve done an amazing job.”

I spend the rest of my day cutting, coloring, and styling, and as soon as the clock hits three p.m., Sophie and I walk out the door to collect our boys from school. I’m grateful Marina allows me to work around Evan’s schedule. It means I get to spend essential time with him. I’ve been with her ever since I started out as a stylist and have always considered myself extremely lucky to have her as my boss. She’s always been amazing and flexible with my work hours to accommodate my being a single parent. Let’s face it, even when Wyatt was alive, I might as well have been a single mom.

I spot Evan the moment I pull into the pickup line. He’s talking with a group of boys I don’t recognize, and I grin. I’m so glad he made some new friends today. He hasn’t noticed I’m here, so I quickly shoot him a text, then check my rearview mirror. Cars are lined up behind me, and I watch kids climb into them.C’mon, Evan. I can’t wait here all afternoon.

Sure enough, the woman behind me beeps her horn, and I wave to acknowledge her. Evan glances at his phone, leaves my message unread, and slides it back into his pocket. Damn it. I’m going to have to loop around the block.

Pulling onto the road, I drive around the corner and wait for ten minutes to give him time with his new friends. Then, I continue around the block and pull into the pickup line again. There are only a dozen or so kids left waiting, and the line is empty. Evan’s standing on his own, and when I come to a stop, he stomps toward my car, climbs in the back, and slams the door, startling me.

The vibe coming from my son is not what I was expecting, especially after watching him laugh with the group of boys I saw him with earlier. “How was your first day?”

He shrugs, looking out of the window. “You’re late!” he snaps.

I narrow my eyes, keeping my gaze on the road. “I wasn’t late. I was here on time. I even texted you, but you were busy with your new friends.”

He grumbles and slumps in his seat, dragging the seatbelt across his body and clicking it into place.

“What’s with the attitude?” I ask, turning on my blinker and glancing at him in the mirror.

We drive in silence, but the air in the car is stifling. I’m not sure what’s happened to put him in such a foul mood, but I don’t appreciate it. I know the first day of middle school can be overwhelming, so I’ll give him a pass. He’s probably had a big day, and his emotions are all over the place.

“I thought we could grab a milkshake before we go home. How does that sound?” I push as much enthusiasm into my voice as I can, but I’m really not feeling it.

“Whatever.” The single word drips with his surly attitude.

Oh-kaythen. “Or … we can go straight home. Your choice.”

I watch him roll his eyes in the mirror. “If you want a shake, we can get a shake.”

“I’m asking whatyouwant, Ev. You usually loveDeclan’s Diner, so I thought we could celebrate your first day. But if you’d prefer to go home, we can do that.”

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