Page 70 of Run Home

I huff a laugh until I realize she’s serious. “Mia. I can’t just do a bad job at my job.”

She pouts her lip, clasping her hands in a prayer pose. “Please, please, for me? At least promise to save your very best work for me.”

Unsure exactly how to respond to this odd request, I say, “I promise that I will always do the best of the best job on your hair, Mia.”

She seems satisfied and scans the QR code to pay rather than running a credit card. Veronica walks into the room as Mia is admiring her hair one last time and taking approximately two hundred selfies. Veronica skirts around the edge to stay out of the photo background, and Mia turns to give me an enthusiastic hug.

“You’re the best stylist I’ve ever worked with, Sam,” she says. “And trust me—I’ve made the rounds. Can’t wait to come up with a new look for next time.”

Mia bounds out of the room, recording a new video as she walks through the salon, and I stare after her, dumbfounded.

It’s only when my phone dings with the payment notification that I check it to see that Mia gave me a fifty percent tip on top of the rather pricey cost of a balayage treatment.

My jaw drops.

“New client?” Veronica’s voice sounds behind me.

Schooling my expression, I turn around. “Yes. I don’t typically come in on Saturday afternoons, but she really wanted me to squeeze her in this week. Since Lynsey’s out of town, I told her I could make it work today. What are you up to? I thought Lynsey said you take Saturdays off.”

Veronica nods. “I do. I’m typically on the sidelines cheering at one of my son’s flag football games or my daughter’s soccer games on Saturdays.” I try but fail to picture this uptight woman who’s always giving me the cold shoulder sitting on the sidelines of a children’s sports game. But then, I picture her yelling at a child on the opposing team for being too rough, and it all clicks together.

“I’m cutting a neighbor’s hair tonight, so I’m picking up my good scissors and a cape,” Veronica explains.

“Oh,” I say. “That’s nice of you.”

She shrugs, gathers her things, and starts to leave the room. She stops abruptly and pivots to face me. “That color looked good. Great, in fact,” she says, sounding as if the words tasted a lot like vinegar.

“Thank you?” I don’t mean for the words to come out as a question, but they go rogue as they pass my vocal cords.

Veronica’s scrutiny unnerves me as she stares, apparently corralling her own rogue words. Finally, she says, “You are very talented, Sam.”

I stare.

“I’ll admit I thought you got an unfair stroke of luck to be flooded with clients because of who you’re dating,” she continues.

The words sink in my stomach. My eyes drop to the floor. I hate being right.

“But I was wrong,” she says, and my eyes flick back up to hers. “You are very talented. It won’t be long before you outgrow half a seat in a shared salon space. It probably won’t be long until you outgrow our salon completely. And I wish you all the best when that day comes.”

Stunned, I silently stare far longer than is polite. I finally manage a “Thank you, Veronica.” Clearing my throat, I add, “That means a lot, coming from you. I’ve watched you blending layers, and it’s flawless. I’ve already picked up a few tricks from observing you.”

Her smile is reserved but real. “I’ll see you next week, Sam.”

After eating a quick dinner, I open my laptop on the kitchen table. Amber agreed to a quick check-in call, despite the fact that it’s a Saturday evening. When she admits me to the telehealth video meeting, I smile and wave at the screen.

“Hey, Amber! Thanks so much for taking some time on your Saturday night to chat! I promise to keep it brief,” I say.

Amber waves a hand at the screen. “Don’t worry about it. Our schedules were not exactly aligning well this past week. How have things been going with your new job?”

I give her a brief overview of the beginning of my career, my heart bursting with satisfaction when she praises my strong start. When she asks about my relationship with Adrian, my heart starts to stutter.

“I don’t know, Amber,” I begin, sighing.

Her eyebrows furrow slightly. “Are you having second thoughts about the relationship?”

“No!” I exclaim. “Absolutely not. Not even close. But I think that might be what’s confusing me. I’ve never had doubts about a relationship until it was over and I could look back and see how unhealthy it was. But I genuinely don’t think this relationship is the same. I think it’s different. But can I trust myself to know that?”

Amber is quiet for a moment, collecting her questions. “Let me ask you this—does it seem like Adrian is putting the same amount of effort into the relationship that you are?”