On Thursday morning Samantha opened the door to The Clip Job, Thunder Creek’s one and only hair salon. Taking a quick breath for fortification, she walked inside. Gran had insisted that Georgia Hanover, the owner, was just the person to trim and style her hair. She hoped her grandmother was right, because tomorrow night was the rehearsal dinner for Nick’s brother.
“Sam!” Georgia greeted her on sight. “Welcome!”
Since Samantha was a young girl, she’d known Georgia as one of Gran’s close circle of friends—which had always puzzled her. They were such an unlikely pair. Her grandmother was traditional to her core. On the other hand, Georgia’s bohemian nature showed in the visible tattoos on her arms, the hippie style of her clothing, and the bright-purple stripe in her slightly bird’s-nest-looking hairdo. The latter didn’t instill much confidence in Samantha as she settled into the styling chair.
“Ruth says you have some special events this weekend and want to look your best.” Georgia swiveled Samantha around to face a full-length mirror.
“Yes.” Nerves tumbled in her stomach again. Were those nerves about her hair or those special events?
“Well, we’ll get you all fixed up.”
Samantha started to wish she’d flown home to Portland to her regular stylist. She could have done it all in one day with an early enough start and a rental car. That would have been one expensive haircut, to be sure, but at least she would have known what she was getting.
“All right.” Georgia met Samantha’s gaze in the mirror, at the same time fastening a cape around her neck. “Tell me what we’re doing for you today.”
She explained her preferences, hoping she made herself clear. Then, to make sure, she pulled out a page she’d torn from an old People magazine. It was a photo of the actress Emma Stone. “I want it to look like this.”
“Sweetheart, it already does.” Georgia laughed. “I guess what you’re telling me is just give you a trim and keep the shape. Maybe an inch off the ends, I’m guessing.”
Samantha nodded as the tension eased from her shoulders.
Georgia escorted her to the wash bowl. When they returned to the styling chair, a towel wrapped around Samantha’s head, her cell phone chirped, notifying her of a text message. She drew it from her pocket beneath the cape. The text was from her mom.
Happy birthday, it read. I have a crazy busy day ahead of me and will call you tonight. Do you have special plans?
No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t have plans, special or otherwise. Gran seemed to have forgotten that today was her birthday. No surprise there, especially considering that Gran’s pain level seemed to have increased overnight. And really, what was one more birthday in the scheme of things?
“Hold your head up, Sam.” Georgia removed the towel. “My, my, my. You do have such beautiful hair. You can’t get that color of red from a bottle, although plenty of people have tried.”
The compliment made her smile. As a kid, she’d hated being a redhead. She’d felt too different from the other girls, especially from the cute blonds in her class. But somewhere along the way, she’d begun to like the way she looked, including her hair color. Nick had once told her it was her hair that had made him come over to talk to her at the seminar where they’d met. Perhaps that’s when she’d begun to truly like the color.
She felt that all too familiar sense of pleasure roll inside of her at the memory.
Georgia began to chatter about other people in Thunder Creek as she took a comb in one hand and scissors in the other. She didn’t stop talking until she set down the scissors and picked up the blow dryer. When she was done, she spun the chair toward the mirror once again. “Ta-da!”
It was, Samantha realized at once, the perfect haircut, and she told Georgia so. The woman beamed with pride.
“What do I owe you?” Samantha asked as the cape was removed.
Georgia waved dismissively. “Not a thing. Hap—” She broke off and turned away with a cough. “Hap . . . happens that I owe your grandmother a haircut and she told me to use it for you.”
“She didn’t say anything to me about that.”
Georgia waved again. “Maybe she forgot.”
“At least let me give you a tip.”
“Nope. Not a cent.” She looked at Samantha. “Now you go and have a great day. I mean, a great weekend. The wedding and all. Is that what I heard? That it’s a wedding? I love to go to weddings myself.”
Samantha frowned. “So do I,” she agreed slowly. Why did she feel as if she were being manipulated? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something wasn’t quite right. “Thanks again for the great cut.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’re surely welcome.”
Nick pulled his truck to the curb on the far side of the park from Ruth’s home. He was right on schedule, according to the time on his phone. Walking briskly, he followed the sidewalk to Ruth’s backyard gate. His knock on the kitchen door was answered by Adrian Vinton.
“Hey, Nick,” the pastor said. “Come on in.”
“I take it someone got the birthday girl out of the house as planned.”
Adrian nodded. “Brooklyn said she needed help with the set for a play at Alycia’s school, and Samantha went to her aid.”
Nick followed the pastor to the large living room, where Ruth sat in the recliner. The sofa and several chairs were already occupied by other guests. He recognized many of the faces, which pleased him.
Over the next fifteen minutes, more guests arrived at both the front and back doors. People spilled from the living room and into the large den. Gifts began to pile up on a table near the front door. Nick added a small, gold-wrapped box to an open space at the back of one stack. As the clock ticked closer to six, Camila asked the guests to be quiet, and they soon complied. It felt to Nick as if the entire house held its breath, and anticipation began to build in him.
At last the silence was broken by the soft, almost imperceptible sound of a door opening. Laughter followed from the kitchen. Samantha’s laughter. Nick recognized it right away.
“Gran?”
Nick saw Ruth put a hand over her mouth.
“She must be asleep,” Samantha said, lowering her voice. “I’ll check on her.” A heartbeat later, she stepped into view.
“Surprise!” everyone in the room shouted.
Samantha went pale. For a brief moment, Nick thought she might faint from the shock. But then the color returned to her cheeks and she laughed again, her eyes twinkling. “I don’t believe it.” She looked around the room. When her gaze fell on Nick, it stopped. If possible, she appeared more surprised than before.
Her reaction bothered him. He didn’t want her to be shocked that he’d come to celebrate with her. Surprised by the party, yes. But not by him being present. She turned away and said something to Brooklyn and Alycia, and when she turned back, her gaze avoided Nick.
That bothered him too.
A memory tried to surface. He saw her eyes brimming with tears. He felt a dull ache in his chest, seeing the hurt in their green depths. But before the scene could fully form in his mind, it vanished, like a mist in the morning sun, and he was left to wonder if it had been something real or only his imagination.
“Doesn’t Sam look pretty?”
“She sure does.” He glanced to his right.
The woman beside him—probably in her late forties or early fifties—had what could only be described as an outlandish sense of style, from her clothes to her hair to her makeup. “I’m Georgia. I own the beauty salon in town. And you’re the young man who helped Ruth when she fell off that stupid horse.”
He swallowed a chuckle. He’d heard similar words more than once over the last month. He wasn’t Nick Chastain to many of the women in this town. He was that guy who’d helped Ruth. And any time the horse was included in a comment, it was a stupid one.
“Well, God bless you,” Georgia continued. “None of us would know what to do without her.”
He no longer tried to say he hadn’t done all that much. Ruth’s friends never believed him anyway.
“I hear you’re taking Sam to a wedding.”
“Uh . . . yes.” Small town strikes again.
Georgia grinned. “I gave her a trim this morning in preparation for the weekend. I’ve always loved her red hair. So pretty.”
His gaze swung back toward Samantha. “Beautiful,” he said softly, watching her move among the guests. Funny— lots of hazy or missing memories were in this banged-up head of his, but he’d never forgotten her beauty. He’d never forgotten the smile that was both sweet and seductive. He’d never forgotten that fire that could flash in her eyes or the lyrical sound of her laughter.
Samantha’s path around the room brought her closer to him and Georgia, and eventually her gaze met his again. “Hi, Nick. Thanks for coming.”
“My pleasure. Happy birthday.”
A question filled her eyes, but she didn’t give it voice.
“Look how loved you are.” He motioned with a hand toward the packed living room as a longing tightened his chest. A wish that he could read her every expression. A wish that he could be counted among those who loved her.
“It’s more about how loved Gran is,” Samantha answered.
Georgia grunted. “Nonsense, sweetheart. We love you in your own right.” She patted Nick’s arm. “I’d better get into the kitchen. They must be putting out the refreshments by now and might need my help.” She hurried away.
There was more than one kind of love, Nick thought, his gaze still on Samantha. He could love her as a friend. That would be enough. It would have to be.
Not since she was a little girl had Samantha had a birthday party with so many guests in attendance. It didn’t matter to her that they were more Gran’s friends than hers. Their good wishes were genuine, and she loved them all for it.
Samantha sat on the sofa, the house now empty except for her and Gran. The unopened gifts lay at her feet, the opened ones to her right. But her thoughts were on Nick. He’d been among the first to leave the party, and yet his presence had lingered in her mind. She could still see his smile, still smell his woodsy cologne, still hear the warmth of his voice.
“Go on, dear,” Gran said, intruding on her thoughts. “Open another one.”
“Maybe I ought to wait until morning. It’s late and you should be in bed.”
Gran sent her a look of disgust. “All I do is rest these days. Now go on and open your gifts. I want to see every single one of them.”
Samantha complied without further resistance. She wouldn’t win, so there was no point in trying.
The gifts, for the most part, were simple and inexpensive. A knitted tea cozy. Pottery from a local artist. A board game. A framed inspirational saying, hand-printed. Near the last, she came to a small box wrapped in gold foil. A tiny gift card was attached to the ribbon.
Happy birthday, Sam. Nick.
Her pulse quickened at the sight of his distinct handwriting. She freed the tape and removed the wrapping paper, then lifted the lid of the white box. Inside, nestled in a cloud of cotton, was a tennis bracelet. Cubic zirconia rather than diamonds, she was certain, but beautiful nonetheless. It took her breath away, mostly because the Nick she’d known hadn’t been a gift giver.
“Who is that from, Sam?”
“Nick.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake. Isn’t that lovely?”
Samantha sensed her grandmother watching her. Lifting the bracelet from the box, she said, “He must be very grateful that I’m going with him to his brother’s wedding.”
“Hmm. Is that the reason?”
“Don’t read more into this than it is, Gran.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”