The song “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” came through the speakers at the C.M. Salon, where I was getting my hair cut by my good friend Morgan Reed. She opened this salon last winter and I’d yet to be charged for any of the services she’d provided—despite my protests and the numerous times I’d slapped my credit card down on the front counter—and so I’ve relented by leaving ridiculous-sized tips.
Winking red and green lights outlined the mirror I stared into and a spicy apple scent filled the air as the Christmas song claimed that my troubles would be miles away—if only that were true. All I could think about was the job that was about to be pulled out from under me.
“Okay, spill,” Morgan said, holding a comb in one hand and scissors in the other as she stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I blinked a few times. “Spill what?”
“Whatever is on your mind,” she said, gesturing to the chair I was sitting in. “You’re wriggling, which isn’t like you. I’d say it’s the song, but it’s not exactly dancing music. Plus, you look like you’re about a million miles away right now. Something’s up. So . . . spill.”
I wriggled a bit more. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Morgan gave me a look. “Start at the beginning.”
“I fell into the arms of a really hot guy the other day,” I said, remembering the warming feeling of Adam’s arms around me. “There may have been some flirting, too. Eyelash batting on my side, anyway. Now I’m taking him out on a tour.”
“Sounds promising,” Morgan said, her lips pursed. “You don’t need just a haircut. You need a blowout, followed by a gloss, and an eyebrow threading. Maybe some eyelash extensions while we’re at it.”
“I could use an eyebrow threading,” I said, squinting at my reflection in the mirror. “But no blow out or extensions. I’m not trying to impress this guy.”
“Who are you trying to fool? You just talked about eyelash batting and you’re not like that, even though you haven’t been in kissing distance of a hot guy in a long time. Plus, you love getting glammed up and you’re going on a date with him.”
“It’s not a date, it’s a tour.”
Morgan ran the comb through my hair and then cut a little off. “Date, tour, who cares? This is your chance to impress the guy you’re obviously interested in and we both know what picky taste you have. You should go for it. Besides, you’re my only client for the next hour and when you leave I get to dye a woman’s hair silver, like tinsel-colored silver at that.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Some people go all out for Christmas.”
I pondered what my dark hair would look like silver and then shook my head. “He’s attractive, nice, and there’s definitely something sweet lurking behind his walled-off exterior, but not my type. He’s the serious business, no-vacation-in-years type of guy. His phone is attached to his hand, if you get my meaning. Like, oh, sorry, got to take this. I’m not trying to date him anyway. I’m trying to save Silver Bells and keep my job.”
Morgan’s eyebrows elevated. “Say what?”
“The guy is Adam Kline.”
“Larry Kline’s long lost son?”
I nodded. “He’s going to sell the business unless I can figure out a way to stop him.” My fingers tapped out a fast pace on the arm of the chair. “That’s why we’re going on the tour.”
“And you think a tour will be enough to convince him not to sell?”
“The idea sounded a lot more plausible in my head,” I admitted, wriggling again.
Morgan froze with the scissors poised above my head. “Faith, if you don’t want those bangs you gave yourself back in sixth grade, you have to hold still.”
I forced myself to stay perfectly still. “But maybe one tour will be enough for him to see how special Silver Bells Luxury Tours is. He has to see, Morgan, or I don’t know what I’ll do.”
She made a humming sound. “I think you need to let me give you the works. Facial, eyebrow threading, a blow out, maybe even a manicure. Oh, and we should definitely do a lip treatment. Let’s get those lips nice and soft for kissy time.”
I glared at her. “My lips are fine. I use loads of lip screen. And I have zero plans to kiss Adam Kline, thank you very much.”
“Riiiight.”
Okay, that had been a lie. Kissing Adam Kline was something I’d thought about a lot ever since we first met. His lips were absolutely kissable, after all. “Besides, I want him looking at the scenery and the other people on the tour, not at me. This is his chance to really get to know a side of his dad he didn’t get to see before he passed away.”
Morgan snipped some more of my dark hair off. “I thought you said the two of you wouldn’t be good together, not even on a date.”
I stared at the bright flicker of the Christmas lights. “We wouldn’t be.”
“Then why do you care whether he gets to know that side of his dad, or not? I mean most employees don’t care about their boss’s feelings. Unless said employee is interested in said boss, in which case we’re talking a different story.”
“I am interested,” I retorted. “Very interested . . . in keeping the business open.”
“And interested in the guy who saved you from falling on your face? The hot guy you flirted with, batting those eyelashes like you’ve never done in all of the sixteen years I’ve known you?”
“Ugh.” I threw my hands up. “Okay, fine. I have been thinking about him and maybe was interested, up until he started acting like his phone was his personal life saving device. The guy is a workaholic, Mr. Kline’s son, and trying to wreck my entire life by selling Silver Bells. And I have so many ideas about improving the business, too. I know I could help turn the place around, make it really profitable, if he would just hear me out.”
Morgan stepped to the side and set the scissors down. “Then make him listen.”
My brow furrowed. “I’m trying to make him listen to me, but the only way he’s going to understand why the business is so amazing is to experience, first-hand, what it is that we do,” I said, exhausted from thinking about Adam Kline. My life had seemed so simple until he’d come to town. I needed to change the subject. “How are things going with you and Dallas?”
She gave me a distracted look. “The holidays are tough on him. His relationship with his dad is strained because of his dad’s alcoholism. I wish I knew what to do to help.”
Sympathy struck. “I’m in a similar boat. I wish I knew how to get through to Adam.”
Morgan reached up and unhooked the clove apple. She held it to her nose and took a deep inhale. The scent drifted over to me and I snapped my fingers. “Now I remember who used to love those things.”
“Ms. King,” we said in unison.
Grief nudged its way into my heart. Losing our choir teacher and mentor had been hard on all of us. Mr. Kline’s positive attitude had helped, but now he was gone, too. “I wish Ms. King were here. She’d know just what to do.”
Morgan hung the apple back up. “She would know, and she would say she knew, too.”
“I miss her,” I said.
“Me, too,” she said, giving me a look of understanding.
If Ms. King were here she would tell me to go after what I want. Determination filled me. Adam Kline was going to be so knocked over by this upcoming tour that he’d never be able to sell Silver Bells. And saving the business was all I was thinking about, of course, when I turned to Morgan. “Okay, let’s go for the eyelash extensions.”