"You know why, don't you?" Mrs. Rule asked conspiratorially.
"Umm--" Angie faltered.
"It's because he doesn't care for it when I don't mind my own business. But sometimes I can't help it; I love Courtney so much and want to keep her in my family. And marriage to one of my sons would do the trick. But I suppose Damian thinks of her as a sister. Anyway, he was trying to teach me a lesson, I think."
"Maybe so." Angie shrugged. Maybe Damian did think of the girl as a sister, but it had been obvious to Angie that one of his brothers didn't. "But he is a grown man, Mrs. Rule. I'm sure he'll find someone in his own good time."
"Well, he's taking too long! He'd be happier if he would settle down with one woman."
Angie felt a knot grow in her stomach and couldn't help asking, "Does he date a lot, then?"
"Oh, my yes, although I don't know if I'd call it 'dating.' He has a lot of women, darling, but they seem to be interchangeable, although I haven't seen him with anyone lately. That's why I think you'd be perfect for him. You're so attractive and. . . and," she paused as if searching for the correct word to describe Angie's style. "And vibrant!"
Angie smiled at the other woman in the mirror. "Thank you." She realized in that moment that Damian didn't understand his mother completely. He'd taken Angie to her dinner party with the belief that his mother wouldn't like her because of the way she looked, but that wasn't the case at all. The woman didn't appear to Angie to be judgmental at all, and she gave her credit for that.
As she put the cap on Mrs. Rule's head before leading her to the hair drying station, Angie glanced to the front of the store and saw her next appointment, an older gentleman who'd been her customer for a long time. She smiled across at him, knowing she'd have plenty of time to fit him in while Damian's mother was under the dryer.
At her smile, he stood up and intercepted them as she and Mrs. Rule crossed the room. "How are you, hon?" he asked Angie, his gaze skimming away from her to land on Damian's mother.
"I'm well, and you?" Angie questioned sincerely. She was fond of this man--he was a sweet old guy. Both he and his grown son had been her customers for a long time.
His eyes never wavered from Mrs. Rule and Angie was shocked to see a blush on the older woman's face. "I'd be better if you'd introduce me," he said in a gruff voice, nudging his chin toward his intended target.
Angie took a deep breath, a ribbon of both humor and panic rushing through her. Why did she have the feeling that Damian wouldn't care for his mother getting hit on? And with the look on the man's face, that was exactly what was probably going to happen. "Mrs. Rule, this is my long-time customer and good friend, Rick Harris. Mr. Harris, this is Justine Rule."
Mr. Harris picked up Mrs. Rule's hand and actually kissed it, and Angie broke into a spontaneous grin as the other woman's expression became colored in panic, her free hand flying up to her head as if only now remembering the colorant cap she wore.
Angie took pity on her and led the blushing and stuttering woman to her seat, adjusting the heat and setting the timer.
She began to turn away but stopped when trembling, feminine fingers grabbed her hand. She looked down at Justine. "He's very good-looking for an older gentlemen, isn't he?" Damian's mother asked.
Angie knew they weren't talking about Damian anymore, and she glanced over at Rick Harris and studied him a moment. He was good-looking for an old dude, something she'd always known. His son was exceptionally good-looking, as well. "Yes, he is."
"And is he?"
"Is he what?" Angie asked.
Damian's mother took another quick glance across the room before returning her attention to Angie. "A gentleman."
Angie smiled, relieved she could put the older woman at ease on that score. "Yes, he's always respectful; he's a gem, actually."
"Is he married?" Mrs. Rule asked as her gaze darted back and forth between Mr. Harris and Angie.
"No, his wife died several years ago."
"Oh."
Angie paused as she considered Damian's mother. The older woman was quite pretty and she took good care of herself. It was obvious where Damian had inherited at least some of his good looks. Studying her, Angie could plainly see the conflicting dismay and excitement the woman was feeling from being scrutinized so boldly. "What do you want me to say if he asks about you?"
"I don't . . . I don't--"
Angie took pity on her and patted her hand and whispered conspiratorially, "I'll figure something out if it comes up. I'll buy you some time, okay?"