Page 9 of Fiery Romance

“Okay,” the child chirps.

My eyes soften as I watch her scamper away and then I refocus on my client. “Put your head in this dip.”

She does.

I take out the faucet head and test the water temperature. It’s a little hot, so I let it run down my fingers until it’s room temperature.

“I’ve seen your videos online,” the client mumbles, her eyes closing in delight when I start shampooing her scalp.

“Oh, have you?”

“I was really surprised when I heardtheIsland Hayes was doing my hair. Aren’t you a celebrity?”

I wave away her words. “Please. I’m not a celebrity.”

“What do you call having somany subscribers?” She pokes an eye open.

“A fluke?”

She giggles.

“I’ve been posting videos for a long time. It tends to add up.”

“How long have you been an influencer?”

I scrunch her hair up under the nape of her neck to really get the suds in. “Started in my teenage years. I’ve always had a… how do I say this? Loud personality. I like talking and I like people and I like talkingtopeople.” I chuckle fondly. “I think my gran bought me that camera to give her ears a break. She was glad I’d finally found something else to yammer on to.”

“Did you think you’d blow up like that?” the client asks, her voice a low moan because she’s enjoying the massage so much.

Since she’s sleeping in a women’s shelter, I have an idea of what she’s been through, so I give her an extra-long scrub.

“No. I was just an awkward teenager trying to experiment with makeup. It’s kind of like how a little girl plays with her dolls or pretends she’s got her own cooking show. I was being my chatty, over-bubbly self in the privacy of my bedroom. I didn’t think anyone would care enough to watch me. Much less havethismany people care about my recommendations and beauty tips. It still kind of boggles my mind when I think about it.”

“You’ve worked hard,” she says.

“I’ve worked smart.” I turn the tap on again and rinse out the shampoo. “Internet fame is nice, but it’s fleeting. I knew I didn’t want to stick all my eggs in such an unreliable basket.”

“That’s when you opened the salon?”

“Oh, no.” I laugh. “Neither me or my grandparents had that kind of money lying around. When my subscriber count grew, I started getting brand deals. Rather than splurge that money on stupid teenage things like fancy cars or clothes or jewelry, I took advice from my gran and saved it all up. After I was eighteen, I put a down-payment on my first store. It took time.”

“You’re inspirational,” she gushes.

I wrap a microfiber towel around her sopping wet curls and lead her over to another station. On the way, I sneak a peek at her. She looks more confident and encouraged already.

Pleased, I set the barber apron around her shoulders and get to work detangling her hair with goops of conditioner. “You’re the one who’s inspirational. Starting over is no small feat. It takes courage to ask for help and I really admire you for that.”

She swallows hard. “I,” her fingers play around a faint scar at her wrists, “I’m the opposite of brave. If you knew all the things I’ve done…”

“Like what? Finding the strength to start fresh? Scoring an amazing job?”

“I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“Honey, by the time I’m done with your hair, you will.”

“You really think I can be someone like you in the future?”

I part her hair into sections and hold the mass together with clips. “You already are.”

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