Wallflower (Whittaker Floral #2)

6. Hannah

6

HANNAH

I was still blushing furiously as Declan Andrews walked out of the shop. Elizabeth glanced at me, her mouth upturned into a half smile. “I saw you had an admirer,” she observed.

An admirer? Did she think I was flirting when I should’ve been working? And could Declan Andrews actually be considered an admirer? If so, he was an admirer who thought so little of what I did he felt comfortable interrupting the entire time. Then again, maybe he was right. After all, wasn’t that what Elizabeth just told Matty? That I wasn’t good enough? “Not an admirer,” I muttered dismissively.

Elizabeth looked disappointed, shrugging as she ran a hand over the table, which was already spotless. “Jules, would you mind wiping down out here?” she asked.

“Of course, Elizabeth,” Julia said, reaching under the counter for a towel and spray bottle and rushing to wipe everything down.

Julia usually worked in back when we had clients, but I hadn’t noticed whether or not she’d left the front of shop today. It occurred to me that, if she hadn’t gone in back, perhaps she’d seen my interaction with Declan Andrews. The thought made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I wanted to forget the entire encounter, but my brain was determinedly reliving it instead. I was used to being ignored by men, but the more I thought about it, the more a worse-case scenario took shape in my imagination. What if Declan—rich, handsome, effortlessly charming Declan—had been making fun of me the whole time? I felt sick to my stomach.

Collecting my supplies hastily, I headed to the back of the shop, veering from where Matty was working and heading toward the chiller instead. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about Declan, especially my nosy best friend. Because as much as I loved Matty—and I loved her like a sister—I wasn’t ready to forget how quickly she’d dismissed me this morning. It stung. Not as much as having a devastatingly handsome man humiliate me, but pretty close.

And damn if Declan Andrews wasn’t devastatingly handsome. He had the most amazing emerald green eyes with flecks of brown, curtained by golden lashes probably thicker than my own. I pressed my back to the wall of the chiller, soaking in the cold of the metal until I was numb straight down to my bones, then closing my eyes and picturing Renaissance roses. My favorite of the roses, they were intricate and beautiful with a fragrant smell.

I busied myself with stock, managing to avoid Matty for the next half hour until she had to leave to set up some fundraiser on the Northside, but when I returned to my workbench, Julia joined me, leaning halfway across my table. Julia was sweet, but younger than I was and a perpetual gossip. I’m not sure why she liked spending time with me, but she always came over to chat when Elizabeth and Matty were away doing set-up. On this Sunday we were alone except for Bitty doing inventory, but she kept her voice low anyway. “Omegahd. How good looking was the guy that came with the Andrews wedding today?”

“He was okay,” I lied, tossing in a dismissive shrug for good measure. “But he was rude as hell.”

“What? Why? What did he say? Did he say something terrible?” she exclaimed, sensing what might have been the first bit of gossip I’d ever shared with her. I needed to backpedal, and fast.

“Nothing, I guess,” I answered slowly. “He just,” I paused, trying to think of the word I wanted, “ oozed good-looking, rich-guy, condescending ass.”

“I don’t know,” she said skeptically, as if she weren’t sure good-looking and rich could ever be bad. “Did he say something to you?”

I was positive I didn’t want to explain to Julia how he’d made fun of me, because implicit in that story was that I didn’t know how to talk to people. He’d made fun of me because I’d greeted him rudely. But still.

I shrugged instead, giving my full attention to the list of orders for the upcoming week until Julia seemed to grow bored. I thought she might leave, but she tilted her head and looked at me cheerily instead. “How long is your hair now, Hannah?” She poked at my bun, and I pulled away, glowering at her. She continued, undeterred. “This bun is huge. Do you have one of those things inside or is that all hair?”

“One of what things?”

“You know, they make those foam loops that go inside your bun to make it look bigger.”

I wasn’t sure why anyone would want a bigger bun. Most days I was trying to make mine look smaller. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and no, this is all my hair.” I paused thoughtfully, remembering what Matty and Elizabeth had been talking about. There was no doubt I wasn’t Elizabeth’s brand. They were probably embarrassed of me. “I’ve been thinking of cutting it though,” I said, even though the idea had only just occurred to me.

“You are ?” She was nearly screaming and yet somehow still whispering. Julia had perfected the scream-whisper. It seemed a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm to have towards hair.

I looked up into the air, as if I could see the bun on top of my head. “It’s getting long, and I was thinking of cutting and donating it,” I replied, the idea taking shape as I spoke.

“Yes! That’s so cool. Absolutely. You have to go to my girl!” She pulled out her phone.“It’s less than a mile from here—900 North Michigan. Ask for Ty. She specializes in curly hair. Your hair is curly, right?” She poked at it again and I scowled at her, wishing she would stop.

“I mean, it’s frizzy?” My answer sounded like a question.

“She’ll cut it so you can donate it and even teach you how to make it less frizzy. She’s awesome. You have to call. I’m texting you the info now.”

I took in a deep breath. Julia was a bit much sometimes, but she was trying to be nice, and if anyone could make me look presentable, it was effortlessly beautiful Julia.

The next day, I sat in the stylist’s chair, shrugging lamely when Ty asked me who I wanted to look like. I’d called the previous afternoon, informing them Mondays were my day off. I figured it would take a couple of weeks to fit me in, but it happened Ty had an opening this morning.

Alas, here I was at 8:30 am , my butt-length hair brushed out and splayed half in front of my face like Cousin It. I had no idea “who I wanted to look like.” I wanted to look like me with shorter hair. I guess Ty could see she wasn’t getting anywhere, because she tried a different tactic. “Tell me how you get ready in the mornings.”

“I brush it out and then put it in a bun,” I said.

“About how much time do you spend?”

I shrugged. “A few minutes.” I didn’t mention that was literally all the time I was willing to spare in the mornings.

“Okay,” she continued slowly, clearly forming her plan as she spoke.“We’re going to go short—like around your shoulders—so that you can donate it. If I show you how to make it curly would you want that? It’ll only take you about five minutes.”

Five minutes was doable, but only if it was actually five minutes. I’d noticed plenty of people—mostly women—meant twenty minutes every time they said five. “Probably,” I replied hesitantly. “I’ve always wondered how girls make their hair all curly instead of frizzy.” I frowned. “Does it seriously take just five minutes? The women on TikTok take hours.” If this lady was trying to trick me into some routine that had me dipping my head in bowls of water, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

Ty smiled at me as she tied my hair off in a ponytail and did the first chopping, which took some work because it was so thick. I felt the weight coming off, and by the time she handed me the ponytail my head felt light as a helium balloon, ready to float away at any moment. I looked at the ponytail with wide eyes. It was huge.

Ty doused my hair with a spray bottle next, soaking it, then began cutting. She disappeared for a few minutes, but promised to come back and show me how to make my hair curly.I sat and looked at a Harper’s Bazaar while I waited, glancing up to see Ty talking to the woman who ran the desk in front, pointing back to me. Both women were now looking at me, and I shifted my gaze back to the magazine, feeling embarrassed. I was pretty sure I wasn’t meant to see this conversation. Realistically, they were probably talking about what a mess I was. Glancing around at the clientele, I doubted they ever got anyone in here like me. It looked like every other woman had spent hours in front of the mirror before they even walked through the doors. My cheeks reddened.

Ty came back a moment later, smiling. “Hannah,” she announced, “I had to double check, but I was right, we have a special on a cut and brow waxing today.” I looked at her questioningly. I hadn’t come to be waxed. As it was, this haircut was setting me back a pretty penny. “It means you’re eligible for a free waxing with your haircut today,” Ty said triumphantly.

My face pinched a little. I’d never had anything waxed, but I assumed it was painful. I wasn’t really sure I wanted that. But Ty must have seen the unsure look on my face, because she continued, “You’ve got to do it. You’ll look amazing afterwards.”

I considered saying no, but it was hard to turn down something free, and besides, it didn’t feel like Ty was ready to take no for an answer, so I nodded awkwardly. “Okay. Do I do that today?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes!” she said, her excessive enthusiasm not unlike Julia’s. No wonder Julia liked her so much. “Let’s get your hair done and I’ll take you down there. And I want to see you afterwards.” Ty went about applying some white cream to my now short hair, running it through from roots to tips over and over, lifting and then scrunching it. She made it all look very easy, but I had a feeling I’d find a way to screw it up tomorrow. Finally, she pulled the cape off and spun me around, handing me a hand-mirror. I looked in the tiny mirror, but wasn’t entirely sure what to look for. My hair was now shoulder length and curly. I really did look like those women who walked around the city with perfectly styled hair. Still, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say about it, so, lacking feedback, I smiled.

“You like it?” she asked.

“I do. It’s great. Thank you. You made the curling look easy.”

“The curling was easy, so make sure to do it everyday. You can buy this cream when you check out, or get something like it somewhere else.” She took back her mirror and beckoned me to follow.

Ty led me through a large wooden door into a room with couches and more battery operated candles than I could count. At her direction, I sat on one of the couches and waited. She disappeared for a moment and came back smiling. “Sylvia will come to get you in a minute. Don’t forget to find me and show off how gorgeous you look before you leave.” Then Ty smiled, gave a little finger-wave, and walked out.

I began counting the candles while I waited. I had gotten to twenty-eight when Sylvia walked in.“Hannah?”

I looked up.

“Come on back with me and we’ll get you looking beautiful.”

It didn’t escape me that this assertion came with a clear implication that I was not presently beautiful, but of course, that was why I was here, right?

Sylvia had me lay down in a large bed, then she carefully smoothed wax between my brows, putting the cloth on and ripping. She continued over the tops of my eyebrows and I was pleased to discover that brow-waxing was, in fact, not painful like I’d always assumed. Next she spread the wax over one eyelid and ripped off the hairs.

Okay, that I felt.

She did the other, and then came back again with little bits more wax, each time ripping. My eyelids burnt something fierce, but still Sylvia came back with more. I was starting to wonder if I even had eyelids anymore, but obviously the pain had to come from somewhere.

Finally, she put away the wax and I sighed my relief. That was, until Sylvia the Sadist pulled out a pair of tweezers and began plucking mercilessly at my burning lids. She finished, looking quite pleased with herself, and held up a mirror to me. “What do you think?”

I looked into the mirror tentatively. My eyes looked more golden than I remembered—and bigger—but it was hard to notice them because my forehead was covered in a huge, angry, red unibrow. I wished I had a hat to cover myself with while I walked home. I didn’t know how long the red would last, and I was too embarrassed to ask. Instead, I said, “I look pretty.” The response seemed to disappoint Sylvia, but I wasn’t sure what I was meant to say. I offered a weak half-smile, hopped off the table, and grabbed my purse to leave.

The next day, the red was gone. I’d woken up a little early and taken a shower after Tru’s walk so I could try putting the curling stuff in my hair. Truman observed this unusual pattern curiously, cocking his massive brown head to and fro. Out of the shower, I combed through my hair with my fingers and the cream, scrunching and waiting. It wasn’t frizzy, but it was really wet, so I had no way to know what would happen. I went into my closet and found a navy long-sleeved T-shirt and placed it over a pair of dark jeans with a black cardigan sweater. It was quite possibly the most on-trend thing I owned. Like most days, I finished the look with a pair of Doc Marten boots.

I stood in front of the mirror and today, rather than the glance I typically afforded myself, I looked for a good, long while. The face staring back at me looked…pretty. I nodded at myself once and gathered my things, then gave Truman a kiss on the head and left for work, slipping in my ear buds as I walked.

During the trip, I made eye contact with three men and two women, and I smiled at all five of them. I didn’t know if feeling pretty had me thinking people were checking me out or if I was actually looking worthy of being checked out. Either way, I was feeling myself this morning, and when I managed to score a window seat—facing forward no less—I decided this was going to be the best day I’d had in a long time.

It wasn’t until I got to work that the embarrassed shyness crept in. Around strangers I had no problem, but now I had to face people who knew what I normally looked like. What if they wouldn’t stop talking about it? What if they thought it looked bad? What if they didn’t mention it at all? Every possibility was worse than the last.

I walked into the shop with my head down and hung my stuff, grabbing an apron. When I looked up, my best friend, Matty, was staring at me, mouth agape.

“Holy. Shit. Hannah.” She spoke slowly, saying each word as if it were its own complete sentence, then walked up to me and fluffed my hair, grabbing my face with a flat hand on either side of my cheeks and forcefully turning my head up, down, left and right. “Holy shit, Hannah! You look like a damn supermodel. It’s been forty-eight hours and you turned yourself into a supermodel?” Her excited voice had elevated to a volume that was bound to draw attention in the little shop. I tried to pull out of her grasp, my cheeks heating.

Bitty wandered in from the chillers, probably drawn by Matty’s screams. “Oh, Hannah…pretty,” she said simply, smiling at me and moving on with her work. Thank you, Bitty. What were the chances everyone else had that response?

Matty, still practically shouting, continued, “Pretty? She’s gorgeous! Who got you to do this?”

“Matilda,” Elizabeth sighed as she walked in the back, “must you always scream—” her voice cut off as she laid eyes on me, her eyes like saucers. “Hannah, I love what you’ve done,” she remarked matter-of-factly, although her eyes had not settled into their normal state.

“Do you see why I scream?” Matty asked. Eyes still wide, Elizabeth nodded absently, smiled, and turned away. Her response would’ve had me second-guessing if not for Matty’s over-the-top nature.

Matty turned back to me, her voice quieter. She leaned forward on one of our work benches, looking like I was about to tell her some big secret. “Seriously, when and where and why?”

“Yesterday, at a salon Julia suggested, mostly because I wanted to donate my hair. But then they showed me how to make it curly, and it was easy, and they had free eyebrow waxing, so here we are.”

“Free eyebrow waxing?” Matty asked skeptically.

I shrugged.“Apparently. Maybe it’s free because paying for pain like that is ridiculous.”

Matty stood straight, her eyes wide with alarm, her hands out in front of her like a hostage negotiator. “Han, it hurts less every time. You have to keep going.” She nodded sagely, then continued. “You look stunning. I refuse to let you go back to looking like a cavewoman now that we’ve established you can, in fact, be drop-dead gorgeous. I’d be a bad friend to condone such a thing.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’ll see, but don’t expect me in for a Brazilian anytime soon.”

She looked at me wryly. “Hannah, sweetie, you walked around with butt-length hair and bushy eyebrows for years. I can only imagine your nether-regions are going to need to be excavated via machete.”

I smacked her. “My nether-regions are beautiful.” I raised my now-sculpted eyebrows at her. “Perfectly manicured, like a suburban lawn, thank you very much.”

I was sure Matty had more to say, but Elizabeth returned then. Shock passed, she was now smiling serenely. “Hannah, I love your new professional look,” she said, which was apparently her composed response. I’d never, until today, seen Elizabeth lose her composure, so I suppose I could be proud of that, if nothing else.

“Thank you,” I responded, feeling immensely awkward.

“I want you to come to the Andrews wedding for setup on Saturday. You can wear that shirt you’re wearing with black pants. Do you have black pants, the kind a human cannot do yoga in?”

“I do. Work ones.I just don’t wear them to work. So I guess I should rename them,” I said with a one-armed shrug. I was babbling.

“What about shoes? Do you have other shoes?” She looked disdainfully at my boots.

“Not ones you’ll like,” I admitted.

“I do,” Matty piped in. “I have flats, and I will put them on her.” She said this with an efficient nod, as if it was simply one more thing to add to her to-do list.

“Excellent,” Elizabeth continued. “You’re very talented, Hannah. This will be good for you.” Then she turned and walked through the door and to the front of the shop.

I stood, blinking stupidly at the empty space where she’d previously stood.

They hadn’t hired a replacement for Drea after all. They’d picked me.