Page 11 of Must Love Flowers
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
The call disconnected and a warm sensation came over Joan. Phil Harrison sounded like such a nice man. She’d be cautious and get more than one bid, although she already liked him and hoped he lived up to the image she had of him in her mind.
Chapter 5
Joan arrived ten minutes early for her hair appointment. The shop was abuzz with activity. Chatter hummed across the room as women and a couple men filled the stations, with stylists doing a variety of tasks involving hair. Joan couldn’t keep from smiling. It was as if the pandemic had never happened. Life had returned to normal. It had felt anything but normal for so long that this small reminder was enough to boost her spirits to the point she could almost forget.
“I’m Joan Sample,” she announced, as she stepped forward to the desk where the receptionist sat. “I’m a bit early.”
The young woman greeted her with a welcoming smile. Her name tag identified her as Jordan. “No problem. Take a seat and Bailey will be with you in a few minutes. Would you care for something to drink while you wait?”
“I’m good, but thanks.” Joan chose a comfortable chair andnoticed the wide assortment of magazines on the coffee table in front of her. She reached forPeopleand absently leafed through it, astonished that she didn’t recognize a single celebrity. They were all so young.
“As I live and breathe, it’s Joan Sample,” Charlene said, walking toward Joan. Her smile was wide, and her eyes sparked with delight. While the salon owner had been Emmie’s high school classmate, she’d been Joan’s friend, too. They hadn’t socialized much, but Joan had been a regular at the salon. The two had lunched whenever Charlene could get away from the shop and Joan was able to leave the office.
She stood to greet her old friend. The two women briefly hugged. Taking hold of her shoulders, Charlene leaned back as if to get a good look at Joan. “Other than needing a decent haircut, you haven’t changed a bit.”
Oh, but Joan had changed in myriad ways. She might resemble the old Joan on the outside, but inside she was a completely different woman, one she hardly recognized herself. One she wrestled with on a daily basis, struggling to navigate this unfamiliar world in which she’d found herself thrust.
Jordan approached them. “Bailey is ready for you now.”
“It’s good to see you,” Charlene said, as she returned to her station.
“You, too,” Joan replied, and she meant it. She shouldn’t have waited so long to make an appointment. “When you have a minute, I’d like to ask you about your boarder.”
Charlene’s eyes revealed her surprise.
“Yes, of course. As soon as you’re finished with Bailey, we’ll chat.”
“I hope that won’t put you behind, I mean, I’m not sure thisis anything that would interest me,” she admitted, although the thought had darted through her mind a few times since her sister had mentioned it. She rarely saw her sons, and having someone living in the house might help her to break out of the protective shell she’d built around herself. That cocoon that she needed to break free from in order to fly again.
Jordan gestured toward the young woman who would be styling her hair.
“Hello,” Bailey said as Joan took a seat at her station. The young woman was in her early twenties, with her shoulder length hair parted down the middle. One half was a pale, almost white blond and the second half was pitch black. She looked a little like a checkerboard or a harlequin, which made Joan smile.
After draping the cloth apron around her neck, Bailey ran her fingers through Joan’s hair and frowned ever so slightly.
“It’s been a while since I was last in a salon,” Joan confessed.
“Well, you’re here now, and we’re going to have you walking out looking good as new.”
The two exchanged pleasantries as Bailey led Joan to the shampoo bowl. Back at her chair afterward, Bailey asked Joan a few questions about how she styled her hair and what she wanted.
Joan realized she no longer knew. She’d always worn her hair short in an easy-to-wash-and-wear style. It was longer now than at any time since she’d attended middle school. She’d grown accustomed to seeing herself with this length and often wore it in a ponytail at the base of her neck.
Given a free hand, Bailey reached for her scissors and went to work, clipping here and there, working her magic. She used a blow dryer and a huge brush to shape the style and then handedJoan a mirror so she could review the back. Joan barely recognized herself. She looked good. Really good, even if she said so herself.
When Bailey was finished, Joan left the young stylist a larger-than-normal tip. Bailey had earned it.
Her eyes widened with appreciation when she noticed the bill. “Thank you.”
“You did a great job.”
“I hope you’ll come back again.”
“I will.”
