Page 67 of Fiery Romance

Clay hands it to me.

I dab at the corners of my eyes.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, still watching me uneasily.

“This neighborhood has seen so many businesses closing up and moving away. The price for the building was good but deep inside, I moved here because I wanted to show everyone that this isn’t a place where progress comes to die. I wanted to show that there’s beauty even in hard times and this…” I blink rapidly. “This is exactly what I want people to feel and experience when they step into the salon. Oh crap. I’m really trying not to cry.”

Normally, I wouldn’t be this emotional, but my defenses are down after that exhausting and disappointing phone call with Taz. On top of that, I’d driven over here, already thinking of all the problems I’d have to tackle.

It had been overwhelming just handling the police investigation over the past few days. If not for Amy holding things down for me at the salon, I wouldn’t even have the energy to think about rebuilding.

To just… appear and have all those issues sorted for me? How can I not get a little teary?

Clay clears his throat a couple times. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t just me. A few other folks heard what you’d been doing for the community and the women’s shelters—giving free haircuts and such. Couldn’t beat them or their money away with a stick.”

“Thank you, Clay.”

The tips of his ears go red and he takes a giant step back. “Uh, right. Well, starting over doesn’t mean making the same mistakes. So our crew is here,” he gestures to a bunch of men in black T-shirts and baseball caps crawling over the walls, “to install a state-of-the art alarm system and security cameras. If someone steals your wash station in the dead of night again, we’re going to know about it.”

I tilt my head back to watch the camera with the red blinking light.

“We’ll start with this store first since it’s the most vulnerable, then I plan on rolling out better security measures for all the stores.” He purses his lips. “I don’t want you rattling your key in a lock for five minutes before you can get in.”

I laugh softly. “That was one time.”

He shakes his head.

I smile at him. And then I look around. It dawns on me that Clay and his team have probably been working like dogs to get this all set up in such a short time.

I check my watch. “Have your men eaten yet?”

Bolton shrugs. “Food is for the weak.”

“Oh really.”

“Do you think a meal is easily accessible in war, Miss Hayes?”

He’s speaking in such a dead-pan voice. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Well, you’re not at war right now, Mr. G.I. Joe. Stomachs have needs.”

“We had a late breakfast, so we’ll also have a late lunch,” he says. I can tell he’s being serious this time.

A late lunch?

Everyone is sweating and grunting and moving. No matter what time they ate breakfast, they’ll definitely be in need of an energy boost.

I step outside and make an order to a nearby fried chicken place. Twenty minutes later, the food arrives, sending such a strong, savory fragrance through the store that I hear a collective stomach growl from all the guys.

As the restaurant folks set platter after platter on the counter, I bring out a few tables. Then I yank off the foil from the aluminum pans and admire the spread of cheesy mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and potato salad.

The security guys gather around me, eyes locked on the food like the chicken wings are doing a strip tease. They can’t stop themselves from drooling.

“Brace yourselves, gentlemen. This store is famous for their chicken. Legend says, they haven’t changed their oil in fifty years.”

“That sounds like a health violation,” Mr. J, another one of the security guys who usually works at my main salon, jokes.

“You’ll be singing a different tune when you take your first bite,” I tease.

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