“How far is the salon from the house?” I ask Lilly.
“About a five minute drive.”
That’s good; I could walk to work. I still need to work out a babysitter for Hope, but I’m hoping I can find a child care program she can go into while I work, since that’s what she did before and she loved it.
When we pull up in front of the salon, I take in the area around it. It’s in a shopping plaza, which would mean a lot of walk-ins, and since I needed to build a new clientele, that would be perfect. In Kentucky, I owned my chair at the salon I worked in. I enjoyed it, because I made my own hours and only worked when I had someone coming in. Here, I will be starting from the bottom until I have enough of a base that I could maybe open my own place or rent a chair from someone.
“I’m really nervous,” I blurt as Lilly turns off her car.
“You’re gonna be great. Frankie is really sweet. You’re gonna love him, and the girls who work with him are all really nice too.”
“I know you’re probably right, but I’ve never really done this. The salon I worked at is the same one I interned at while I was in school. I don’t even remember what it’s like to interview.”
“You’ve already got the job, honey. You’re just going to meet him. I’ll be out here with Hope if you need me.”
“You’re not going in with me?” I ask, feeling like I want her to hold my hand, which is strange, since I have never had anyone around to hold my hand before.
“I can if you want. I just figured you would want to go in alone.” Lilly shrugs.
“No, you’re right. I should go in by myself,” I mumble, looking at the shop.
“He knows you’re coming. I sent him a text when we left the house. It’ll be okay, honey. Take a breath.”
Pulling in a breath, I let it out slowly then put my hand on the door handle. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Mama,” Hope says from the backseat.
“Thanks, Angel,” I whisper as Lilly encourages, “Go get ’em.”
Opening the door and closing it behind me, I pull my coat tighter around myself as I walk across the sidewalk. When I reach the salon and go inside, I’m bombarded with the familiar smell of hair products. Looking around, the place is more than nice. The décor is simple but high class. A large, dark purple couch sits in front of the shop windows, scattered with white pillows that have gold streaks through them. In front of the couch is a mirror-top table, two small kid-size chairs, and a stack of coloring books and crayons.
“Can I help you?” a beautiful woman with long, almost-white blonde hair asks when I get to the front desk.
“I’m here to see Frankie,” I say softly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. The salon I worked at back home wasn’t even half as nice as this one, and the women I worked with were much older. I’m not sure how I will get along with women my own age.#p#分页标题#e#
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, I’m Ellie. Lilly sent me,” I say, and her face goes soft, seeming to make her even more beautiful.
“I’m Kimberly, but everyone calls me Kim. It’s nice to meet you. Frankie’s with someone right now, but if you give him five, he’ll be done.”
“No problem.” I smile, taking a seat on the couch.
“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” she says, catching me off guard. “Frankie filled us in on what went down, and then I saw the news report. I hope they catch the other guy. Have you heard anything?”
“Um, no, not yet,” I say, feeling a chill slide over me. I don’t want to think about him still being alive, or the fact I could still be in danger.
“I’m sure they’ll catch him.”
“I hope so,” I reply then think about Jax, and something deep within me knows he will make certain Hope and I are safe.
“You’re going to love it here. Frankie’s the best, and Mickey, Ian, and Kendal are all really great too.”
“Have you been here long?” I ask, jumping on her change of subject.
“I just moved into town a month ago, and this was the first place I stopped.” She shrugs, but I still catch something flash through her eyes before its gone.
“Are you a stylist?”
“Yep, and we all work the front desk between clients, except weekends. Then Becka comes in to help out, ’cause we’re all normally booked.”
“Cool,” I mutter, watching a woman a few years older than me walk toward the front. She’s stunning, with big green eyes that stand out against her dark, almost-black hair and pale skin. Her eyes scan over me and her lip curls up at the corner, not a smile, but like she smells something bad as she flips her hair over her shoulder and turns, dismissing me to face the counter.