The Salon – Part 17
Mia's shoulders sagged the moment she saw the name of the day's first guest in the booking log.
"Oh no. Poor Nico!"
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Mia's shoulders sagged the moment she saw the name of the day's first guest in the booking log.
"Oh no. Poor Nico!"
I called Ryan. Locked myself in the bathroom, took a deep breath, and tapped his name on the screen. I could hear it in his voice — he was surprised.
"You can't do this to me, man."
At the sound of Nico's anguished voice, the salon fell silent in an instant. Rosita pulled her hand back from Lara's, gripped the back of her chair, and turned around.
I hadn't heard from Ryan in a full week. He didn't come by, didn't call, didn't even text. I don't get it. Just last week he'd stayed a few hours, even on a Sunday. I'd felt so close to him. And now he just vanishes.
The rain fell like a soft curtain, cutting the salon off from the noise of the street. Lara sat with her chin propped on her palm, waiting for her first client. Nico rocked back and forth in the styling chair, hands limp in his lap.
Ben called Monday morning. That didn't go well either. Apparently I'd agreed to send back the finished catalog by May 29th, but I could swear I remembered June 9th.
Lara took her time getting ready for her client. She refilled the box of disposable gloves, wiped down the UV lamp until not a single speck of dust remained, then straightened the rows of nail polish bottles until every label faced the same way.
My week started with a tiny little "oops." You know, the kind that makes you want to set your laptop on fire.
Mia crept up behind Nico, who was sitting in the styling chair leafing through a magazine. She had already raised her hand to grab him by the shoulder when her eyes fell on the lingerie catalogue in his hands.
Ben is one hell of a manipulator. I didn’t dare put anything ahead of his work. Every day, I started with his material and only then moved on to the telecom translations. There seemed to be more and more of those arriving every week, too.