Page 69 of Run Home

Griffin turns to me, and I pull both his and Danae’s rings from my pocket with a grin. “Now those, I do have. I’m only half lousy.” Griffin smiles and claps my arm before turning to Danae. The pastor pronounces them man and wife, and encourages Griffin to kiss his bride.

I whoop and holler as Griffin dips Danae in a dramatic kiss. Danae takes her bouquet back from Kara, and Jason takes Griffin’s empty hand as the pastor officially introduces Mr. and Mrs. West for the first time.

Clapping with every ounce of enthusiasm in me, I watch as the three of them walk down the aisle. When they’ve reached the back, I step forward and offer my arm to Kara but wink at Sam.

Someday, it’s going to be Sam and me walking down an aisle together.

And for as much as I want to protect Sam, to help her pace our relationship to keep her heart safe, I also hope that day is sooner rather than later.

Because I’m being eaten alive by how much I love her. By how much I want to spend every single moment with her. Hating every moment I miss out on. I’m trying to be patient while knowing this isn’t just an impulse. This is forever.

I will love Samantha West until I die.

Chapter twenty-seven

Sam

Although a piece of my brain is listening to my client’s story about her horrifying first date experience, my entire brain is still fully focused on every slight brush I make, painting lightener onto specific strands of hair.

It’s like some people say they have a second stomach for dessert—I have a second brain for listening while my first brain concentrates on hair color.

Mia, the college student in my chair, saw a friend post a balayage I did on her hair. Mia contacted me on Instagram, begging me to squeeze her into my already-full schedule for the week, claiming to need fresh hair before recording videos for a brand deal.

When I saw how many followers influencer Mia has, I found a spare couple of hours in my Saturday.

It means I won’t be able to attend the Crowns game tonight, a bummer since I was planning to sit with Lily in the suite for the first time. But since I’m still new on the cosmetology scene, I’m prioritizing every new client I can.

Mia came in and told me she wanted an “even better” balayage than the one I did on her friend’s hair. “Like, make it the most subtle, blended balayage you’ve ever done in your whole life,” she said—as though I ever intentionally don’t blend a balayage.

I’m taking her command to heart, though, intent on meeting her every expectation. The process has taken me even longer than usual, but Mia seems content to regale me with story after story of her extremely interesting life as a college student slash social media influencer.

In her defense, she’s a very good story teller. And if half of the stories are true, she does lead a very interesting life.

When I’m finally satisfied with my painting job, I set a timer for ten minutes. I tell Mia, “I think it’s going to take around thirty minutes to achieve the color we’re going for based on the texture of your hair. But I’m going to check every ten minutes to be safe. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

She requests one of the trendy energy drinks Adele keeps stocked in the customer fridge, and I leave to quickly use the restroom before bringing the drink to Mia. At the thirty-three-minute mark, I see the right shade I’m looking for in her hair, so I rinse out the lightener and apply a toner. She decides she wants to cut a few extra layers to add to the transformation, so I continue asking questions and listening to more stories as I cut her hair.

When it’s time to blow-dry, Mia insists on turning away from the mirror. “I want to record a first-reaction moment,” she says.

Panicking, I clarify, “Live?”

“Oh no,” Mia says. “I never live record anything too important. I have to be able to edit the footage before I post it. And I’ll recreate my live reaction if I don’t like the way I look the first time.”

“Okay,” I agree, holding back a disbelieving head shake. After blowing out her hair, I use a combination straightening and curling iron to create subtle waves that will accentuate the sun-kissed pieces blended into her brown hair. I have to admit—I outdid myself with this one. I sure hope Mia has a positive reaction because I think I nailed it.

“I’m all set. Ready to react?” I ask her. She nods, getting her phone camera ready.

“Wait.” I stop her. “Let me sweep up the hair and take off your cape so you get a cleaner camera shot.”

“Oooh, yes,” Mia says, snapping her fingers. I quickly shake off the cape and clean up the floor, then place my hand on the back of the salon chair, ready to swivel.

Mia hits record and says something about needing fresh hair after a bad breakup, then invites her audience to see her new look along with her. She signals me, and I spin the chair around so she can see her reflection in the mirror for the first time.

Her mouth drops open, and she stands up from the chair, leaning closer to the mirror as she runs her fingers through her hair. I think she’s almost forgotten about the camera in her hand as her arm starts to droop. Then, she squeals and turns to hug me, never once dropping the camera.

“This is even better than I was picturing!” she exclaims, whirling back around to admire her reflection again. She says some sort of sign-off into the camera, then hits the stop button. Setting the phone on the counter, she uses both hands to hold her hair up at every angle, examining the subtle color job.

“I’m seriously blown away,” she says. “You can expect to see me every month. Please, if any of my friends come your way, promise to do a slightly less good job on their hair?”