Page 45 of When in Rome

I hurry out before Tanya’s heavily eye-shadowed eyes can sweep to the front desk and catch sight of me and Amelia. She’d sink herteeth in me and then I’d end up with a haircut I never asked for. Just before the door closes behind me, I hear, “Darlin’, yes! I’ve been hoping you’d stop in here since I heard you popped into town. Sit down and make yourself comfy. Wanna Coke? I know you’re probably used to wine but I’d have to drive home and grab the box from my fridge and that might take about twenty minutes.”

I just hope she doesn’t come out with a perm.

Chapter 21

Amelia

I’m faced away from the mirror, like the way hairstylists always do (which I’m convinced is so if they mess up, they can fix it before you notice), and haven’t been given a peek at my hair this entire time. Heather is the twenty-one-year-old daughter of Tanya, and the one who has been working on my hair. It’s been—as Tanya would say—a hootlistening to these ladies volley conversations back and forth. I don’t think I’d even notice or mind if she accidentally shaved my head. Worth it to hear them spill the town tea. I just wish I knew all the people they’ve been southern-politely slaughtering. I’m invested no less.

“Now, give us the scoop about you and Noah,” Heather asks me a touch too loud. Even over the sound of the hair dryer, everyone seems to have heard. All heads swivel in my direction. It’s my turn to spill the tea, I guess.

Tanya and Virginia (the other two stylists) are each working on elderly clients, rolling pink perm rods. Virginia has bright yellow-blond hair that is teased up to the ceiling. She’s smacking her gum while aiming a mischievous smile at me. “I tried to date him, yaknow? Hell, I didn’t even need to date him! I offered to climb right into that man’s bed.”

Thankfully they can’t see my hands clenching into jealous little fists under my cape. I try to laugh lightly but there’s a quaver in my voice.

Virginia winks at me. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s too much of a gentleman. Turned me down and sent me home with an apple pie.” She rolls her eyes up to heaven like she’s reliving the taste of it—or maybe trying to see if she can spot the top of her hair. She’ll never find it. “And if that man’s hands can make a pie that good, imagine how delicious the sex wouldbe.”

“Virginia!” Tanya scolds. If I had to guess, I’d say Tanya is about fifty years old with chestnut brown hair, heavy eyeliner, big hoop earrings, and six-inch-tall high heels that she walks in with the same ease as if they were slippers.Jealous.“Don’t be talking like that around Heather.”

Virginia throws her head back laughing and I can see her gum in the side of her mouth. “Oh come on, Tanya. The girl’s getting married soon. Surely she’s allowed to talk about sex now?”

Heather takes this moment to lean down and whisper quietly as Virginia and Tanya argue about appropriate salon conversation. “Mama, God bless her, still thinks I’m a virgin.” She looks at me with a laugh and wide eyes. “She somehow got it in her head that Charlie and I are waiting until our honeymoon to sleep together even though that already happened the day I got my license back in high school.”

“I heard that, young lady!” says Tanya with a speaking glance at her daughter while pointing a pink rod in her direction.

Heather rolls her eyes and continues tugging a round brush through my hair. “You heard nothing!” She lowers her voice just for me again. “Something I’ve learned about southern mamas: They pretend they know everything even when they don’t just to get you to confess. Never confess. It’s always a bluff on their end.”

I laugh and adjust in my seat so my butt will regain some feeling. “Good to know.”

“What about you?” Heather asks, peeking over my shoulder. “Is your mama a Nosy Nelly, too?”

A sharp—nearly offensive—laugh jumps from my throat before I can stop it. “All my mom cares about is my career in a how-can-it-benefit-her sort of way. And I’ve never known my dad.”

I can’t believe I said all that to a stranger. What is the air made of in this town? Truth serum? I imagine these scheming southern mamas all huddled around an air vent each morning with a vial labeled Liquid Truth so they’ll never be left out of the loop.

Other than blurting it to Noah when I was loopy on a sleeping pill, I’ve kept that secret about my parents locked inside me for years. Even through countless interviews where everyone wants to know about my perfect life and perfect family, I just smile and nod and, even though our relationship is nothing but a rotting apple core lately, I say how thankful I am for my mom.

Heather cuts off the hair dryer and stares down at me with her bright red lips parted. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows are pulled so tightly together they’re making a unibrow and I’m afraid she’s going to burst out in tears. And then suddenly, her arms are around my neck and she’s hugging me. HUGGING ME. I don’t hateit.

“Oh,” I say, slightly startled, but definitely not turning my nose up at it, and I awkwardly pat her back. “A hug. Wow. Thank you.”

She pulls away. “That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. You should definitely come to my wedding.”

I blink, trying to figure out how those two points connect when the door to the salon opens. I see who it is and my stomach flips.Noah.Why does the sight of him do this to me? Someone tell me why the air shifts and my breath feels heavy in my lungs? A strange electricity pulses through my fingertips and I’m afraid the only way it will resolve is if they run over his skin.

“Well, if it isn’t Noah Walker in the flesh,” Heather says,alerting the whole salon to his presence. “Will you bring Amelia as your date to my wedding?”

Noah stands in the doorway, unmoving. He hasn’t looked at me yet. I inspect him from head to toe—so thoroughly I could describe him to a sketch artist and come away with a perfect likeness. I would describe the scruff on his jaw first. It’s important to get it right—because it’s not long and beardy—but it’s not trimmed or edged to slicing angles either. It’s just sort of a natural dusting that wouldn’t burn you if he kissed your skin, but might tickle a little. Next, comes his hair. Oh—that sandy-blond hair. It’s tousled lightly with styling cream. A matte pomade—flex fiber. I know because we share a bathroom and I’m a dirty little snoop.

And I also know that under that white T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders is a tattoo. The most adorable, perfectly fitting tattoo I’ve ever seen on a man in my life. My mind jumps back to this morning, seeing him run into the kitchen shirtless. It’s the image of that man’s taut body that will play on a loop through my mind until the day I die. Golden-tanned skin. Light freckles across his impressive shoulders. Cut biceps and abs that track their way down to his tapered waist.

He is in a word: gorgeous.

I smile as a primal satisfaction, knowing that I’ve seen Noah in a state that Virginia only wishes she could, pumps me up.Oh crap.Am I pathetic? I think I am, since I’m developing very real feelings for a man who has made it abundantly clear that I should under no circumstances develop feelings for him.

Noah’s eyes finally slide over to me and I see him hold his breath. Is that good or bad? His expression is so intense that now I wish I had seen my hair before he did. Maybe I have jagged edges. Or there’s a big gap missing somewhere. Oh well, even if he doesn’t like it, it doesn’t matter. This haircut was for me, and I’m glad I didit.

But I can’t take him staring at me any longer. I blink and look down.

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