by MJ Fredrick
“But if I choose…” He offered her that grin again. “Come to the grand opening with me, Liz.”
“If I say no, are you going to pester me until I say yes?”
His eyes twinkled over the top of his coffee cup. “How do you think I got elected?”
She snorted. He got elected because his father was beloved, and so was he.
“Okay, no, I won’t pester you. But I’m going to keep asking you until you go out with me.”
Her stomach relaxed. “I went out with you last night.”
“That was dinner, not a date.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A date requires some forethought, some planning. Me coming to your house to pick you up.”
It was her turn to smile. “Mr. Mayor. I thought you were a forward-thinker, not an old-fashioned guy.”
“I can be both.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, enjoying him. “Where would you take me on this mythical date?”
He turned and folded his arms on the counter, angling his head to look at her. “I don’t know. One of the changes I want to make in this town is an increase in date-worthy places. Maybe we’d go to San Marcos, or Austin, go see a show. Or maybe we’d go during the day and go tubing. I haven’t been tubing since high school. You?”
“I’ve never been.”
He turned to her, eyes bright. “Let’s do it. Let’s go on Sunday.”
She backpedaled. What was she getting into here? They’d had sex. That was nothing new for her. Why was she letting him lead her into a romance? “I told my mother I’d take her to San Marcos on Sunday.”
“Take her another day. Come on. We can get away for the day, float down the river. Let’s do it.”
She had never been good at denying herself. She nodded, earning a grin, as their number was called.
*****
Liz was still vibrating from breakfast—who knew Killian could be as potent as a cup of coffee—when the bell over the door rang, and Mrs. Wachowski walked in.
She was a tall woman with strong features, who always wore her gray-streaked, mouse-colored hair in a utilitarian bun. How, Liz wondered, did a hairdresser justify not fixing her own hair?
“I understand you’re looking for help,” the woman said, her voice booming in the shop.
What the hell? Had Allison or Sage sent her? And how did Liz turn her away without causing a problem?
“I, ah. I hadn’t posted a ‘help wanted’ yet. I’m not exactly prepared for another stylist in here.” She swept her hand around the salon. “I mean, yeah, I’m busy, I’m booked, but I’m not really set up for two stylists.”
“You have four chairs and four sinks.”
“Right, but not the supplies, you know.”
“I use my own. My understanding was that you were just renting the chair, that I would be responsible for everything else.”
Liz’s brain spun. How was she going to tell this woman that she didn’t meet the image that Liz wanted for her salon? She was the least friendly woman Liz had ever seen. She took a deep breath, ready to send her on her way.
“I imagine you’d be bringing your own clients, but what about new clients? How, ah, experienced are you with foils and razor cuts?”
Mrs. Wachowski’s mouth twisted. “Who do you think was cutting hair before you opened up this shop?”
Liz knew that, but she also knew the styles Mrs. Wachowski had created were permed, teased, and sprayed within an inch of their lives. Sure, she did color, but it was more of a wash than highlights.
“The customers who come to me are looking for more modern styles, straight length, precision cuts. If I hire you to help me, you’re going to need to do those things.”
The longer she spoke, the deeper Mrs. Wachowski’s scowl became. “I could give you a demonstration, if that’s what you need.”
Liz couldn’t think of one person she’d subject to that. “Why do you want to come work here? I thought you were happy working out of your house.”
The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “I want to come work here because you need help, and I could use new business.”
Liz took a deep breath. She knew when she’d opened her own business that she’d have to make hard decisions. But she knew right now she wasn’t good at it. Right. When had she ever had experience saying no?
“You can rent a chair, but for now you’re just going to keep your regular clients, until I’m satisfied you can achieve the styles my customers prefer. I don’t have a contract drawn up yet, so I’ll work one out. What rent would you consider fair?”
Mrs. Wachowski named a figure that made Liz purse her lips.
“I said ‘fair,’ not highway robbery.”
The older woman folded her arms over a faded floral blouse. “I have to make the same income I’m making operating from home.”
“I understand, but remember, you came to me. Add a hundred to that number, and we’ll make it a short-term lease. If you aren’t making the same amount as working from home, I’ll release you.”
For a moment, Liz thought the other woman would turn and walk out. Instead, she nodded and stretched a broad hand toward Liz. A moment passed before Liz understood she wanted to shake on it. Liz shook, and the woman turned and left without a word.
*****
“Mrs. Wachowski? That old battle-ax?” Angie Simon waved a hand over her head as if dismissing even a mental picture of the woman. “I cannot even imagine her setting foot inside this place. Maybe she thinks she can save us sinners, or something. Can you imagine her talking about sex the way we were the other day? Lord.”
“I didn’t know how to say no,” Liz said, her stomach knotting as she looked over the books with Angie, who she’d hired as her accountant. “She’ll be paying rent and bringing in her own people, but I really need someone else, someone who can take my younger clients, who knows what she’s doing. The thing is, no one like that lives in town, so we’ll have to find a place for her to live. Or him.”
“Mrs. Wachowski has some loyal clients, I will say. It might be good for business, and like you say, no real risk. I think you could have asked more rent from her, though.”
“I’m getting a short-term contract drawn up, so maybe we can renegotiate. She might hate working here.”
“Have you ever been out to her place? Anything would be better than that. She won’t go back. Her husband’s retired now, she’s probably doing whatever she can to get away from him.”
Liz turned to her friend. “Is he mean to her?”
“Mr. Wachowski is the nicest man you’ve ever met. A little flirty. But no, he’s probably killing her with kindness or something.”
“Do they have kids?”
“Two boys, who moved off as soon as they were old enough. She’s a tough lady. But, like I said, she has loyal clients, and that’s more bodies in the chairs. I think it’s good in the long run.”
“But in the short run, I still need help.”
“Have you thought about placing an ad in beauty schools nearby?”
“I have, but what do I say? ‘Must provide own accommodations?’ Yeah, I’ll get the cream of the crop that way.”
“I’m sure we can work something out. Cassidy has been talking about buying a couple of RVs to rent out, since she’s not saving her money to see the world now. Maybe we can reserve one of those for a new stylist.”
Liz straightened. “That’s a great idea. But then she’ll have to rent her own place and rent her own chair.”
“Which she’d have to do in the city anyway. I’d get something written up anyway, and I can mail it out for you. Have them apply to me, and I’ll go through them for you.”
Nia Velasquez came through the front door then, sending the bells ringing. She plopped into the chair beside Liz and smoothed her hand over her thick black hair, pulled back with a scrunchy.
“I am so glad you ladies are here. I need a drink. Sage McKenna is driving me batshit crazy. She wants the antique store r
eworked and honestly, I have no idea what she’s looking for. I’m no decorator. I didn’t even want this place. But I can’t sell it unless it’s making money, and Sage said it won’t make money until I do what she says to do.” Nia dropped her gaze to the paperwork spread out in front of Liz and Angie. “Seriously. I need a drink.”
“I can’t,” Angie said, straightening the paperwork and rising. Her loose blouse fell over her rounded belly.
“Oh, crap, I forgot,” Nia said. “Come anyway, have a ginger ale or whatever it is you pregnant women can drink. I need advice.”
“What you need is help,” Liz said. “You need extra hands, extra eyes. We can do it. Each of us can take a booth and work on it. It won’t happen overnight, but we can do it.”
Angie brightened at that. “I can get Cassidy to help, you can get Gracie and Brianna and your mom. It might be a lot of fun.”
Nia sat up straighter. “Do you think people would really do that? Really help?”
“I don’t know about people, but we would, and our families would. Let’s make plans and start tomorrow night.”
Nia leaned over to hug Liz. “I’ll make dinner for everyone. It will be like a party!”
*****
Killian saw the lights on at the antique store when he walked out of his office the following night. The sun hadn’t set, but the square was in shadow, and the big plate glass windows shone like headlights. A few cars remained on the square, including Liz’s, and he could see movement inside the antique store. Lots of movement.
He crossed the street and looked in. The front counter by the register had turned into a buffet, and Liz’s younger sisters were there, munching tortilla chips. Farther back, he saw the back of a dark head bob up and down. Liz’s mom? Nia, the store owner, was standing with her back to the door, her hands on her hips as she studied a display. Cassidy Simon was loading down her boyfriend Grady’s arms with boxes and pointing him toward the back.
And there was Liz, sitting on the top of a ladder, precariously leaning to hang a chandelier. He pushed through the door just as she lost her balance.
“Killian, you scared the life out of me!” Liz scolded. She’d caught herself on the ladder before he could reach her, but now he stood with his arms braced on either side of her, holding her in place.
“You know you can move the ladder closer,” he said, his heart rate calming. He stepped back and looked at the mess around his feet. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have been able to move it closer.
“I’m fine. I got it hung up.”
“What are you all doing here?” He took another step back and looked around. The smell of enchiladas from the counter mingled with the scent of dust and old paper.
“We’re fixing up the place, like Sage wanted. Nia was a little overwhelmed, so we’re pitching in.” She turned to the booth where she’d been working. “I’m not the world’s greatest designer, but it looks better than it did.”
“You even got Grady?”
“He’s the muscle. We’re removing some of the clutter and storing it in the back, for now, in labeled boxes so we know what stuff belongs to which booth. Nia’s going to have a sidewalk sale in a couple of weeks to thin that out.”
Killian shrugged out of his suit jacket and walked it to the coat tree at the front of the store. He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head, hanging it with the coat, and turned back to Liz, rolling up his sleeves.
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
Liz’s intention was to use Grady and Killian equally as her muscle, but since Cassidy had dibs on Grady, well, she kept Killian busy. She had to say, it wasn’t a hardship, watching him smile as he approached her, watching his muscles ripple as he lifted the boxes she loaded him down with. Then watching his ass as he walked away. Why was it that dress slacks were never given the same consideration as jeans when it came to being sexy? Because damn.
She turned away and met Nia’s gaze. Nia lifted her eyebrows and looked pointedly at Killian’s retreating form. Liz knew what her friend was asking, but Liz would be damned if she gave in to her friend’s curiosity, not when she didn’t know what she was doing herself.
She’d better watch herself, if she wanted to keep what was between her and Killian a secret.
He didn’t make it easy when he came up beside her and leaned against the china cabinet that served as a wall to the booth, arms folded. She scowled and studied the display.
“I’m not sure if I’m making it better or not. I don’t think I have the decorating gene.”
“Nah, it looks better, definitely. Maybe if we move some of these glass things that are the same color together.” He brushed past her and picked up a red antique refrigerator box and set it next to a bowl with red trim. “You know, color coordinate. I know that’s what my mom does at the house. So let’s get all the red kitchen things over on this table, and see what we can do.”
Some of her tension washed away as they worked together, even though it felt like he was making a point of brushing his arm along hers when he moved, or bumping her hip, or touching her hand when he handed her a ceramic chicken or a striped glass. When she stuck her tongue out at him, he laughed at her. His hand lingered on her hip, and she let it, for just a moment, before she glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. No one was, but she moved aside anyway.
“Let’s do this table in yellow,” she suggested.
*****
Two hours later, they’d run out of boxes, Angie, Sophia and the girls had gone home. The front of the store and the window drew the eye, more appealing, and now Killian, Grady, Cassidy, Liz and Nia sat on the counter, demolishing the last of the brownies that Sophia had brought.
“I don’t think I can lift my arms,” Cassidy groaned, leaning her head against Grady’s shoulder. “And we’ve got supplies coming to the Coyote in the morning, and I have to help store them.”
Grady rubbed the back of his wrist beneath his eye. “I can’t believe the crap people think other people will want to buy.”
Killian grunted, stretching his back. Even he had indulged in a brownie because, hell, he’d worked it off and more carrying boxes of books and plates and all kinds of junk into the storage room.
“If we price it cheap enough for the sidewalk sale, I’m pretty sure it will move,” Liz said.
“Cassidy, do you think you can save me some boxes from the diner for round two?” Nia asked.
Cassidy rolled her eyes, but nodded. She slid to her feet. “I need to get home. That breakfast shift comes really early.”
Grady hopped down beside her and took her hand. Nia leaned forward and hugged each of them impulsively. “Thanks so much for all your help. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
“Let me help you get this cleaned up,” Liz said, sliding from the counter and motioning to the empty pan with enchilada sauce and some cheese still clinging to the sides, the bowl with tortilla chip crumbs, the half-empty jar of salsa.
“I’ve got it,” Nia said. “You all have done enough. Thank you for everything.” She waved them toward the door. “Thanks, Mr. Mayor, for pitching in.”
“Anything for the town,” he said.
Nia looked from him to Liz. “Yeah, I’m sure. Good night.”
Killian remembered at the last minute to get his jacket and tie, then took Liz’s hand and walked her out. She stiffened for a minute, and he thought she might pull away, but she didn’t.
“It was nice of you to come in and help out. Nia needed all the help she could get”
“Nicer for you to do it, after being on your feet all day.”
Liz lifted a shoulder. “Nia’s a friend. And I might make her sit in the chair and let Mrs. Wachowski have a go at her hair. You know she’s working in my salon now.”
Killian laughed. “Never. I can’t imagine the two of you working together.”
“Well, we haven’t, yet. She’s starting on Friday, and bringing her regulars with her. We’ll see. I think we have Sage to thank for tha
t, by the way. Maybe I should make her have a go at Sage’s hair instead.”
He turned her to him when they reached her car, and leaned into her, pinning her between him and the car. The street lamps at each corner illuminated the square, and the chirping of the crickets swelled and faded in a rhythm that always said summer to him.
He wanted to invite her back to his place, wanted her in his bed, but one look at her told him she was exhausted. Still, he wasn’t going to let her go without a kiss. He angled his head and covered her mouth with his. She gave a soft moan and wound her arms around the back of his neck, arching up into him. He couldn’t resist sliding his hand down the curve of her side and pulling her closer, her breasts against his chest. He parted his legs more so that she was between them, and unable to miss the reaction his body had to her.
She glided her hand down his chest between them, then pulled back, just a little, to look up at him.
“I need to go.”
“I have a budget.”
Liz was barely in the door the following evening when Brianna accosted her with a binder, complete with dividers. On the cover was a swirly design written in silver paint pen, proclaiming the binder “Brianna’s Quinceañera.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Liz was already dragging after the late night in Nia’s store last night, and a busy day at the salon.
“Can I sit down first?”
Brianna bounced behind her as Liz made her way into the kitchen and sat at the table. Gracie was still clearing the dishes.
“Your plate is in the microwave,” Sophia said. “We didn’t wait for you because we weren’t sure you’d be home.”
Nia had wanted to go get a drink but Liz was just too wiped. And a little worried that Nia wanted to talk about Killian. That he’d come in to help out last night surprised her. Then he’d kissed her so brazenly in the middle of the town square, she’d been disappointed he hadn’t invited her home.
Nia had definitely noticed the flirting, and Liz did not want to be grilled about it.
She flipped open the binder Brianna put in front of her, to find all the information neatly organized, the budget in the front.
“I called the VFW hall and the church and the civic center in Alice, so we could have options about venues. All the prices are there.” Brianna pulled her chair close so she could lean over Liz’s shoulder and point.