Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 10- Jeremy

I pulled into the salon parking lot about ten minutes before my appointment, and it was surprisingly empty for a weekend. Lauren was cashing out a client when I walked in.

“It’s not just me, right? Like, isn’t this place usually hopping on a Sunday?” I asked, leaning on the reception counter.

“You’re not wrong, but, holiday weekend. There’s one other girl working today, coming in around eleven, but it’s always slow on long weekends like this. I usually get a tourist or two wanting something done before a barbeque or a boat adventure, so I figured, why not?”

So, the two of us. Alone. Where she will be forced to stand extremely close to me. Perfect.

“That makes sense. Well, shall we get to it? My hair is becoming oppressive.”

She rolled her eyes but led me back to her chair.

“A trim? Or are we doing a mohawk today? Full buzzcut, maybe?”

“You’re hilarious. I don’t know if you can even call it a trim since it’s been months. I could be in an 80s hair band, Laur.”

I demonstrated by headbanging to no music and letting my hair swing back and forth. I liked it long ish . Not ponytail long.

“It is a little overgrown, I’ll give you that,” she admitted, combing her fingers through it. I had to have a brief mental argument with my dick that this was not the time to barge into a conversation where he was uninvited. The hands in my hair were professional, not recreational.

“Let’s get you shampooed, anyway. You big whiner.”

“I’m sorry, I missed that. You said I have a big—”

“Ego. I said you have a big ego.”

“Neither assumption is incorrect,” I added almost under my breath, but she shook her head in admonishment, letting me know she heard me loud and clear. I shrugged and got as comfy as I could in the shampoo chair. There had to be an invention that made this less awkward. I didn’t fit right.

Her nails on my scalp and the citrusy scent of whatever products she used were relaxing, though. Sadly, she finished up, and I followed her back to her station.

“So, friend. How’s life? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in months,” she began, coming in hot.

“Well, friend, I guess it’s all right now that I’m not being left as the third wheel in all group activities. Plus, I’ll be back to my gorgeous self shortly.”

“Assuming the scissors don’t slip.”

“Right. I feel okay about that assumption.”

She shrugged.

“Are you seeing anyone new?” she asked, her tone light.

The question was innocuous for one friend to ask another. It felt like a ticking bomb coming out of her mouth. I let out something between a strangled laugh and a cough. Because no , I wasn’t. I wasn’t because it felt weird to think about other women when all I wanted to think about was her . Lauren’s scissors stopped moving, and she looked apologetic before opening her mouth to deliver what would have likely been an awkward apology.

“Nope. You know me, anyway. I don’t really do relationships, and the tourist thing feels like watching the same movie over and over again after a while, so, no. I needed a break.”

She seemed to un-pause and go back to focusing on my hair once I got out my little declaration.

“Why is that, anyway?”

“Why is what?” I asked, afraid. She had me cornered, and I very much wanted this conversation to be over.

“The no relationships thing. I mean, I get it. I, too, am a relationship-school-dropout. I mean... you used to date a lot in high school. And there was Kat...”

I swallowed and told myself to keep to my lighthearted story about not wanting anything serious, wanting to have fun, but it felt so tired, especially with Lauren. I also knew why she was asking. Because I’d said no to her, and she wanted to know if the no was because of me or because of her.

“Well. Since you are the one with the sharp instrument near my throat, tell me which answer you want. The standard one or the real one.”

This is not your best idea.

“The real one, obviously. I have to keep it confidential anyway; it’s in my oath.”

I chuckled at that, imagining her swearing an oath over a blow dryer.

“Oooookay. But when I’m a total buzzkill, you must take responsibility.”

She nodded her assent, still trimming away.

“I did used to date in high school, and the stakes were low, and it was mostly fun. Well, dramatic, but in an exciting way, I guess. And Kat and I were the most dramatic, even then.”

Lauren’s raised brows let me know she at least remembered some stories. She was a year behind me, but our school was tiny. Everyone knew everyone.

“I made... poor decisions, we’ll say, after graduation. I was serving at La Cantina in Centerville and making what I thought was a massive amount of money. Kat was, too, and we thought we were invincible or something. Doing a lot of coke does that to a person,” I explained, not wanting to lie by omission.

I was not a good guy then. I didn’t know if I was a good guy now, though, I tried a lot harder.

“Oh,” Lauren said, her tone purposely neutral.

I wondered if they taught that at hair stylist school, too. How to respond when your clients say awful things.

“It didn’t start out that intense, I should say. This is, like, over years of kind of spiraling. We ended up in this toxic place where what used to be innocent drama turned into screaming matches and her putting a hole in the wall of my room at my parents’ house with my baseball bat. And that later turned into me getting kicked out because my parents found my stash after the whole incident and me losing my job because Kat had also been sleeping with our manager, so...”

The only sound for several heartbeats was the snipping of scissors. I’d even left out the part where I got arrested for kicking my manager’s ass after said firing.

“I’m not gonna lie, Jer. I was unprepared for that story. I’m... I’m sorry that’s how life went after graduation.”

I waved my hand, realizing I’d clearly told the story wrong.

“There is nothing you should feel sorry for after that incredibly condensed version of my post-high-school life. I realize I made Kat sound like the villain there, but I brought all of it on myself. I was not good to her, either. I was sarcastic and mean and, well, high, most of the time, and I openly flirted with other girls because I am a dick. If pity is the emotion you’re feeling, then I’m not explaining it right.

“But I don’t do relationships because I don’t want to do that to someone else. Bring out their worst with my worst, I guess. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

She stood still, a look of understanding crossing over her face, and I at least felt that I’d hit home the fact that our earlier encounter was a me issue and not a her issue.

“You don’t think it would be different now because you’re different now?”

She’d stopped snipping completely by this point.

“It’s an assumption that I’m any different now. I mean, I don’t do illicit drugs anymore, so that’s an improvement, for sure. But I have no other proof that I’m a different person. The only evidence I have is that I was not a version of myself that I liked very much when I was in a quote-un-quote serious relationship. And it’s been a few years, and that seems like a long time, but it also feels like I’m still getting my feet under me sometimes. I decided it’s better that I don’t go there.”

Her expression confused me now. She almost looked defeated. “So, you don’t think people can change?”

“I don’t claim to know anything about what other people can do. Just me.”

She nodded, her chin jutting out slightly like she didn’t like my answer.

“I told you I’d be a buzzkill.”

She huffed a laugh and seemed to realize she was no longer cutting my hair but instead standing and talking to me in the mirror.

“Sorry. You’re distracting.”

“How about you? Anyone new?”

Part of me wanted her to say yes so that I’d be forced to be appropriate and get over this urge to feel like I could have things with her. Happy, stable, long-term things. At least she’d started cutting again, and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or annoyed that she was almost done.

“No. Maybe I’m on a break too.”

“Well, your phone has buzzed sixty-seven times since I’ve been sitting here, so someone wants to get ahold of you.”

She grimaced.

“Tourist I hooked up with last year is in town again. I am being very mature and ignoring him until he goes home.”

“Ah, I never thought about one coming back to haunt me. You’ve unlocked a new fear.”

“Right? That’s supposed to be clear-cut! Whatever. Maybe I’ll block him.”

“Not good enough for a repeat performance?”

“That’s sort of my issue, in a nutshell.”

I looked at her quizzically, wondering if I was about to get to see a Lauren without her walls up.

“Pity I have to blow dry you now, and you won’t get to hear my whole failed relationship history.”

She smirked at me, looking more like herself now as she flipped her dryer on , effectively ending all communication. She was sneaky.

I narrowed my eyes at her in the mirror, but it was fine. I’d said what I’d needed to say; I hoped she understood better why I couldn’t cross that line with her. All I felt with her was light, and I had no desire to turn into some sort of monster who diminished it because I couldn’t stay in the friendzone where I belonged.

She finished, I paid, and it seemed like whatever little over-sharing space I was in had dissipated. We were back to our normal banter again.

“I’ll see you for fireworks tomorrow. Bring cookies, or I’m not letting you in.”

“I promise. Thank you for making me look less like a Yeti. I think I lost five pounds in hair.”

“Well, try not to wait so long between appointments next time. Self-care is important, Jeremy.”

She grinned widely at me, and I left shaking my head, feeling like maybe we’d found some equilibrium.