Page 12 of Unhurried Hearts

“It’s just that…” She sucks in a breath. “I know you’ve liked him for a long time, but I think he thinks you hate him. Do you know the way you look at him? I’m surprised you haven’t put a curse on him or something.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t look at him like I hate him.”

I wrack my brain, but of course I’m not able to come up with any evidence to dispute her claim. You can’tseeyourself glaring at other people.

“Shit, is that what I’ve been doing?”

Ashlyn nods, getting herself together at last.

Oh my God.

“I think I’ve been keeping him at arm's length. I figured that if a guy like Darren didn’t want to take the time to, um, help me figure things out, that someone like Chris certainly won’t.”

She tips her head in a sympathetic gesture. “Chris may be a little wild but he’snotan asshole. If you can be honest with what you need from him, I think he’ll deliver.” She bounces her eyebrows on the last word.

“I’m going to cut his hair. If he makes an appointment, that is.” I check the time on my phone.

“Speaking of which, I should pop into the salon. Thanks for listening to all that.”

“Go get you some of that Chris DNA.”

“Ashlyn.” I shake my head slowly. “Ew.”

My cousin wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t mean it like that. Yeah, I grossed myself out too. Do you want me to walk you out?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

I drape my knit sweater over my shoulders and breathe in the earthy smells of falling leaves and a lavender bush on its last legs. As I walk toward my car at the front of the house, my phone buzzes, and for one sweet moment, I think it’s Chris before remembering that I didn’t give him my personal number. My mom’s name and a text flash on the screen. Any feelings of levity that came from unburdening myself to my cousin are gone in an instant. A tightness in my chest takes over as I open the message.

Mom:

Would really like to talk. Call me when you have some time. Love you

My birthday isn’t until the New Year so I suppose this is the annualare you coming home for Christmas?talk. No, thanks. I’d rather discuss my car's extended warranty. I plug my phone in to charge, choose some music, and drive to work with the hopes that a certain someone will appear on my schedule.

Chapter six

Chris

Riding around in the freshly washed Jeep with the September sun streaming into the windows is all I need to drive away the guilt of lying to my mom. If I’d have told her the truth, that Carolina calls me often, that would have sent her on a tirade. If she found out I’ve been sending her bits of money here and there so she can enjoy herself in Malaysia or whichever country she’s currently in, she’d really lose it. Despite me trying to help her out, a ticket home never seems to transpire. When my parents drove her to the airport three years ago, I don’t think they had any idea she’d stay so committed to travelling. Hell, I hadno idea my bratty younger sister would be able to visit so many places with only a backpack and a whole lot of guts.

Parking a few businesses down from Anna’s salon, I cut the engine and listen to the sea birds screech from the tops of lamp posts as I work up some courage. The window display for Shine Salon is modern with a clean, black awning stretching above the entrance. A sandwich board balances on the sidewalk with a chalk-written message welcoming clients inside.

“Just a haircut,” I say to myself in the rearview mirror, blowing air out of my cheeks while flattening my too-long strands to my forehead. If that’s all it is, how come I’m so nervous?

I stretch my neck from side to side as I walk toward the door. She might not even work on Sundays, I think, a wave of disappointment hitting me at the thought. When I push the glass door open and step inside, I’m hit with a sweet, clean smell. The salon is larger than I imagined but not as feminine as I assumed. A row of four black leather chairs, not unlike the ones at my barber, face one wall. A young woman with long, vibrantly green-streaked hair walks behind the smart-looking glass reception desk.

“Morning. Do you have an appointment?”

My mind goes goldfish-level blank at her question. Maybe I should have called ahead. Three of the four salon chairs are occupied and each womanin this place has given me a sidelong glance. Seconds are passing and the person in front of me is doing a great job keeping her face arranged in a position that doesn’t say, ‘is this guy an idiot?’

The card.

I pull the card Anna gave me out of my back pocket and approach the counter, sliding it across to her. She plucks it off the surface with inch-long nails that click on the glass.

“You’d like to make an appointment with Anna? Have you been in before?”

I laugh, some of the awkwardness leaving me. “This isn’t really my normal choice of hairdresser.”

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