Everyone went back to other conversations while I snuck surreptitious glances in Knox’s direction.
Not only had the man just given a little girl a hero, he also appeared to be a competent barber. I’d never considered haircuts sexy until this moment as Knox, arm muscles flexing, trimmed and shaped his client’s thick, dark hair.
Lots of mundane things were sexy when Knox Morgan was doing them.
“Ready for the razor?” he asked gruffly.
“You know it,” the man mumbled from under the hot towel on his face.
I watched in fascination as Knox got to work with a straight razor and a sweet-smelling shaving cream on his friend’s face.
It felt more relaxing than all those pressure washing videos I’d binged while planning the wedding. Straight clean lines leaving behind nothing but smooth shine.
“You really should think about it,” Jeremiah whispered as he liberated a curling iron from a tool organizer.
“Think about what?”
He caught my eye in the mirror and tilted his head in Knox’s direction.
“Hard pass.”
“Self-care maintenance,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Some women get manicures. Some get massages or go for therapy. Some hit the gym or their favorite bottle of Shiraz. But the best self-care maintenance, in my opinion, is regular, earth-shattering orgasms.”
This time I felt even the tips of my ears go pink.
“I just ran away from a groom and a wedding. I think my tank is topped off for a while,” I whispered.
Jeremiah deftly worked his way through my hair with the barrel of the iron. “Suit yourself. But don’t you dare waste this style.”
With a flourish, he whipped the cape from me and pointed at my reflection.
“Holy sh—crap.” I leaned in, shoving my fingers into the touchable chin-length bob. My dark brown hair now had russet highlights and curled in what I liked to call “sex waves.”
Stef let out a wolf whistle. “Damn, Nomi.”
I’d spent two years growing my hair out for the perfect wedding updo because Warner liked long hair. Two years planning a wedding that didn’t happen. Two years wasted, when I could have looked like this. Confident. Stylish. Sexy as hell. Even my eyes looked brighter, my smile bigger.
Warner Dennison III was officially done taking things from me.
“What do you think, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay asked. She stepped in front of me. Her blonde hair was cut short with a sweep of sleek bangs over one eye. A subtle blue teased through from the bottom layers.
“You look like you’re sixteen,” I groaned.
Waylay gave her hair an experimental toss. “I like it.”
“I love it,” I assured her.
“And with a sassy new cut, we’ll be able to coax some length out of your hair if you want to grow it long again,” Stasia told her.
She tucked a strand behind her ear and looked at me. “Maybe short hair isn’t so bad after all.”
“Stasia, Jeremiah, you’re miracle workers,” Stef said, pulling cash out of his wallet and pressing it into their hands.
“Thank you,” I said, offering first Stasia and then Jeremiah a hug. Knox’s eyes met mine in the mirror over Jeremiah’s shoulder. I released him and looked away. “Seriously. This was amazing.”
“Where are we going now?” Waylay wanted to know, still staring at herself in the mirror with that tiny smile on her lips.
“Nails,” Stef said. “Your aunt’s hands look like talons.”
I felt the weight of cool blue-gray eyes on me and looked up. Knox watched me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t tell if he was smoldering or pissed off. “See ya around, boss.”
I carried the weight of his attention with me as I strutted for the door.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I hope you’re having the best time on your cruise! I can’t believe three weeks is almost up.
Things here are good. I have some news for you. Actually, it’s really Tina’s news. Okay. Here goes. Tina has a daughter. Which means you have a granddaughter. Her name is Waylay. She’s eleven years old and I’m watching her for Tina for a while.
She’s really great.
Call me when you get home and I’ll tell you the whole story. Maybe Waylay and I can drive up for a weekend so you can meet her.
Love,
Naomi
NINETEEN
HIGH STAKES
Naomi
“Well, look who just strutted her fabulous ass in here,” Fi called from the corner of Honky Tonk’s bar where she was keying the night’s specials into the system.