Page 39 of Starts With a Bang

Emerson screwed his facial features into mock surprise. “A problem? Of course not. It takes all kinds of people and careers to make the world go round.” Emerson sighed heavily. “Some pursuits are cliché and perpetuate stereotypes that are harmful to the queer community.”

Sven sat up straighter. “Harmful? I make my clients, mostly women, feel good about themselves. Sometimes they sit in my chair during the hardest times of their lives. Divorces, deaths, career struggles, illnesses, battles with infertility. I listen as they vent about feeling unappreciated or underserved in a world that sees them as inferior. Most of them are battling exhaustion from raising kids and trying to be everything to everyone. My salon chair is a safe place for them to get it all out. They literally let their hair down and unburden their souls. I’m more than a student of hairstyle trends. I’m a friend, an ally, and an amateurtherapist who cheers them up. My one goal is to make sure there’s an extra pep in their step when they leave the salon, and I have never failed. I do home visits for those who struggle to get out, and I make rounds at the senior facilities. Do you have any idea how many women have asked me to make sure they look perfect for their funerals? Do you know how hard that is? Most stylists won’t do it, but I’ve learned from the best.”

“Lucinda,” Mom said.

Sven smiled at her. “Yes.”

“Who’s that, dear?” Nana asked.

“My stepmother,” Sven told her. “She was so kind to my mom when she was sick. It probably seems weird to some, but my mom knew that Lucinda would be the one to see me grow up. And Lucinda wanted to assure my mom that I would be in excellent hands. She turned our living room into a home spa. I’ll never forget the blissful expression on my mom’s face after Lucinda’s careful pampering sessions.” Sven looked at Emerson. “I’m proud of my career path. You might think I’m a cliché or a sellout, but that says more about you than it does me.”

Emerson at least had the good sense to look contrite. “I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Thanks,” Sven said.

I could tell he wanted to say more, but he returned his attention to slicing peppers. He glanced over and saw that I’d eaten the pilfered rings and handed me a few more with a wink.

Uncle John opened the back door and poked his head in. “I’m freezing my nuts off out here. Where’s the pizza and my beer?”

“No one told me you were ready,” Mom said. She nudged Dad with her elbow as if he were solely responsible. She carefully transferred the pizza dough to a large paddle and carried it over to the island. “Who wants to go first?”

I told her we’d decided to do a test run to assess our skills before we wasted a lot of toppings.

“You’re so smart,” she said, patting my cheek.

“It was my idea,” Dad protested.

“My bad.” Mom wrapped her arms around his middle and kissed him. “You’re so wise.”

“Married you, didn’t I?”

Sven leaned toward me. “Are they always this cute?”

“Yes,” Nana, John, and Christian replied.

“Well, I see where you get your charm,” Sven told me.

“You’re the only person on the planet who’d accuse me of being charming,” I told him.

“Got that right,” Emerson muttered.

Sven tensed and was prepared to give my ex a good verbal beatdown, but I winked to let him know the barb hadn’t landed. In fact, it seemed like a good time to end the silent treatment I’d started when I moved out of the house I’d shared with Emerson.

“I’m right when it counts,” I said, staring into Sven’s gorgeous blue eyes. The energy pulsing between us was a drumbeat in my ear. “Want to help me make a test pizza?”

“I’d love to.” Sven grabbed the pizza paddle and slid it toward us. “This better not have come from your parents’ tickle trunk,” he whispered.

The notion made me shudder. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his ear. “You’re going to pay for that,” I whispered.

I should’ve known Sven would turn a simple pizza assembly into an art form. He ladled sauce into the center of the dough and spread it out with a spoon, smoothing and adjusting until it formed an even layer of red over the surface. And then he started on the cheese distribution, which took almost as long to get right.

“This could take a while,” Nana said.

Sven smiled but didn’t look up from dusting the pizza with a blend of Italian herbs. “You can’t rush perfection.” He raised his head and met Emerson’s gaze, even though he hadn’t been theone to comment. “And I take great care of the people and things that mean a lot to me.”

Bright pink splotches bloomed across Emerson’s cheeks, and he narrowed his eyes. I could see the moment a biting reply formed on his tongue, but my ex looked in my direction before he released it. I’d let him get away with whatever he’d wanted during our marriage. It had truly been the Emerson Baker-Babb show, but I hadn’t realized it until the damage was done to my psyche. My expression let him know he would not get away with that bullshit any longer. Not that Sven needed me to stick up for him. Emerson dropped his gaze, and Sven reached for the pepperoni.

“I thought we would just do a cheese pizza to make sure we get the crust right first,” I told him.

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