Chloe bounceddown to the basement of the Doyle house. Mrs. Doyle had cut her hair most of her life—except for a brief time during her teenage years when she wanted to go to a real salon like her friends. She quickly learned that the extra money didn’t give her anything special over what she got from Mrs. Doyle.
And today, the added perk was seeing Ronan without a shirt.
Good things all around.
“Hey, Mrs. Doyle,” she called out as she plopped on a battered loveseat.
“I’ll be done a bit,” Mrs. Doyle responded over the head of an older woman with white fluffy hair.
“No hurry.” She picked up a magazine and flipped through the pictures. Every time she got restless, she came to get her hair done. She needed a change, and hair was an easy thing to attack. While she studied photographs of hairstyles, she said, “The new porch looks good.”
Not to mention your hot second son.
“It’s nice of Ronan to do that,” she added.
The woman in the chair said, “That’s what a good boy does. Not like my good-for-nothing grandson. Never lifts a finger other than to text or play video games.” She pointed in the mirror. “I tell you, Ann, I don’t know what it is with this generation. No sense of family.”
Chloe’s back went up, but she didn’t respond. She knew her family was strong. They might not always understand her, but her family loved her.
“You get out what you put in,” Ann answered. “Kind of like being a beautician. Anyone can hack at hair. But if you care about your clients, learn who they are, what they like, what matters to them, they always come back.”
And that was why Chloe trekked back home to get her hair cut. Mrs. Doyle’s chair was about comfort.
Mrs. Doyle handed the woman a mirror and spun the chair. “What do you think?”
“Perfect.”
Mrs. Doyle took off the cape and helped the woman up. “Do you need to call your daughter?”
“No. I told her when to be here. I’ll wait outside.” She handed Mrs. Doyle some cash and went out the way Chloe had come in.
Mrs. Doyle brushed off the chair and swept the loose hair on the floor into a pile. “Have a seat, Chloe. What are we doing today?”
Chloe sat and yanked her ponytail out. “I don’t know. I want something different.”
Mrs. Doyle ran her fingers through Chloe’s hair. “Did you lose your job?”
Chloe laughed. “No.”
“Do you plan to quit?”
“No. I like working at the Black Rose. Why do you ask?”
“Girl, do you think I haven’t put two and two together? I usually see you right before you quit your job or right after you lose it. Whenever your life is in flux.”
“I thought bartenders were supposed to be the intuitive ones.”
Mrs. Doyle winked. “I’m pretty sure you are. That’s why you keep coming here.”
She picked up Chloe’s hair to check the ends and let it cascade down her back. “It’s healthy. How about some highlights?”
“Sure. Maybe a little shorter too?”
“How short?”
“Not too much. I still want enough for a ponytail.” Or enough to hold onto. That thought conjured images of a shirtless Ronan again.
“Okay. Let’s choose a color.”
Chloe enjoyed the process of getting her hair done. The smooth movements of Mrs. Doyle, who had Chloe’s hair wrapped and set in record time while she chatted with her next client. The woman had endless energy. She was the kind of mom Chloe wanted to be one day. Not that her own mom was bad. But Laura McCarthy projected perfection. Ann Doyle did not.
There was comfort in accepting people as they were.
Chloe flipped through another magazine while she half-listened to Mrs. Doyle gossiping with the other client. They swapped stories about everyone’s kids. She wondered what was said about her when she wasn’t around.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the basement. From her spot in a chair by an old dryer, all Chloe could see were a pair of work boots, but she knew it was Ronan. “Hey, Mom. We’ll be done soon. When will you be free so I can go over instructions?”
Mrs. Doyle looked at the head of the woman in the chair and then over at Chloe. “Give me about thirty minutes.”
“Once you rinse me,” Chloe said, “you can go. I’ll wait. I’m in no hurry.”
“No date for tonight?” Mrs. Doyle asked.
Her cheeks became warm. “No date. I have to go to work later.”
“It’s not good to work so much.”
“You’re one to talk,” Ronan said from the stairs. “I’ll be here whenever you’re done.”
Mrs. Doyle finished cutting the woman’s hair and had Chloe rinsed and cut in under thirty minutes. Her hair now swung above her shoulders and she had some long layers. The red highlights blended well but brightened her hair. It looked sassy. She liked it.
“Thank you. This is exactly what I was hoping for.” She handed Mrs. Doyle cash.
“Before you leave, can you head upstairs and send Ronan down?”
“Sure.” With her sassy new hair swaying, she ran up the stairs. She wasn’t sure if Ronan would still be outside, but she figured she’d either see him in the house or call him from the front door.
She didn’t have to go far, however, since he was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a beer, still shirtless.
“Hi. Uh, your mom said to go down.”
His gaze shot up and she replayed the words. Go down. Oh, how she’d like him to go down. His broad hands on her thighs. The rasp of his beard...
“Like what you see?” She paused with a smirk on her face. Teasing Ronan was something a younger Chloe would never dream of. “My hair, I mean. What do you think?”
“I liked it long.”