the one paying.’ Myf came round the screen and zipped Amy the rest of the way up before stepping back and nodding her approval. ‘I love this dress.’
‘It doesn’t make me look fat?’ Amy looked anxiously down to her stomach. Liam’s earlier snipe about her weight slithered insidiously into her thoughts. She’d always had a little tummy but had never thought it looked bad.
‘Fat? No!’ Myf bent down to brush the hem of Amy’s skirt straight for her. ‘It makes you look like a young Doris Day. Want help with your hair?’
‘No, but you can keep me company.’ Amy lightly rested a hand on Myf’s shoulder as she slipped on her shoes.
‘That I can do. So what’s this about your credit card?’ Myf asked, not willing to let the topic go. She padded after Amy to the front of the salon and resumed her seat while Amy heated up a curling wand.
Amy shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Usually when I go on a date I pay. I’m used to it.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. I don’t like being . . . you know . . .’
‘No, I really don’t.’
Amy waved a hand. ‘Obligated. Food equals sex and I don’t want to feel like I have to have sex with a guy because he’s paid for dinner. It’s easier if I pay.’
‘Tell me you don’t pay for their food too?’ Myf asked, her eyes dark with concern.
Amy frowned at her reflection in the mirror, winding pale lengths of hair around her curling iron. ‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?’ She reached for the hairspray. ‘I mean, it just feels better that way. I don’t have to worry about anything then.’
‘Would you feel guilty or beholden if I took you out to dinner?’ Myf asked gently.
‘No, that’s different.’ Amy searched for some bobby pins in her work trolley.
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just different. You don’t expect anything. You’re my friend.’
‘I bet you let Scott pay for your dinner,’ Myf persisted. She and Scott were good friends and had held a number of exhibitions of their respective work together. Both women knew full well Scott would be mortally offended if any woman he’d asked out tried to pay for his meal.
‘He’s different,’ Amy insisted. ‘Can you see my bobby pins?’
‘Different? Like not a man?’ Myf asked, spluttering on her coffee in a burst of incredulous laughter. ‘Have you looked at Scott any time recently? They’re just here.’
‘Thanks. Scott’s not the same.’
‘I’ll make sure I tell him that next time I see him,’ Myf said. ‘I’ll make sure I’ve got a camera with me to catch his expression while I’m at it.’
Amy opened her mouth to reply then thought better of it. Instead she popped a few pins in her mouth and began securing her hair back from her face.
‘Amy?’
‘Hmm? Look, I want to drop the topic, okay?’
‘It’s officially dropped. Does your gentleman drive something that looks like silver sex on wheels?’
‘Yeah. It’s an Aston Martin I think.’ Bobby pins sprayed everywhere when she realised what Myf was saying. ‘Oh bugger. Is he here?’
‘If he’s a sexy, built guy in a suit, I’d say yes.’
Amy followed Myf’s gaze to Ben, who was prowling around his car to approach the door. He was early! ‘Bugger! Can you stall him? I really have to pee and I haven’t fixed my make-up yet. Keep him busy for a second or two, please?’ She frantically scooped up her make-up bag and sprinted as fast as she could to the bathroom at the back of the salon.
‘Sure,’ Myf said in a laughter-filled voice as the bathroom door slammed.
Ben pulled up outside Babyface, experiencing an unfamiliar sense of anticipation. Checking through the barbershop window and seeing it was empty, he pushed open the door of the salon next door.
The first thing that struck him was the scent he’d noticed on his first visit. It was stronger this side. A combination of chocolate cake and vanilla, mixed with the various faintly floral, ammonia and acetone smells characteristic of the female
‘It doesn’t make me look fat?’ Amy looked anxiously down to her stomach. Liam’s earlier snipe about her weight slithered insidiously into her thoughts. She’d always had a little tummy but had never thought it looked bad.
‘Fat? No!’ Myf bent down to brush the hem of Amy’s skirt straight for her. ‘It makes you look like a young Doris Day. Want help with your hair?’
‘No, but you can keep me company.’ Amy lightly rested a hand on Myf’s shoulder as she slipped on her shoes.
‘That I can do. So what’s this about your credit card?’ Myf asked, not willing to let the topic go. She padded after Amy to the front of the salon and resumed her seat while Amy heated up a curling wand.
Amy shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Usually when I go on a date I pay. I’m used to it.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. I don’t like being . . . you know . . .’
‘No, I really don’t.’
Amy waved a hand. ‘Obligated. Food equals sex and I don’t want to feel like I have to have sex with a guy because he’s paid for dinner. It’s easier if I pay.’
‘Tell me you don’t pay for their food too?’ Myf asked, her eyes dark with concern.
Amy frowned at her reflection in the mirror, winding pale lengths of hair around her curling iron. ‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?’ She reached for the hairspray. ‘I mean, it just feels better that way. I don’t have to worry about anything then.’
‘Would you feel guilty or beholden if I took you out to dinner?’ Myf asked gently.
‘No, that’s different.’ Amy searched for some bobby pins in her work trolley.
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, it’s just different. You don’t expect anything. You’re my friend.’
‘I bet you let Scott pay for your dinner,’ Myf persisted. She and Scott were good friends and had held a number of exhibitions of their respective work together. Both women knew full well Scott would be mortally offended if any woman he’d asked out tried to pay for his meal.
‘He’s different,’ Amy insisted. ‘Can you see my bobby pins?’
‘Different? Like not a man?’ Myf asked, spluttering on her coffee in a burst of incredulous laughter. ‘Have you looked at Scott any time recently? They’re just here.’
‘Thanks. Scott’s not the same.’
‘I’ll make sure I tell him that next time I see him,’ Myf said. ‘I’ll make sure I’ve got a camera with me to catch his expression while I’m at it.’
Amy opened her mouth to reply then thought better of it. Instead she popped a few pins in her mouth and began securing her hair back from her face.
‘Amy?’
‘Hmm? Look, I want to drop the topic, okay?’
‘It’s officially dropped. Does your gentleman drive something that looks like silver sex on wheels?’
‘Yeah. It’s an Aston Martin I think.’ Bobby pins sprayed everywhere when she realised what Myf was saying. ‘Oh bugger. Is he here?’
‘If he’s a sexy, built guy in a suit, I’d say yes.’
Amy followed Myf’s gaze to Ben, who was prowling around his car to approach the door. He was early! ‘Bugger! Can you stall him? I really have to pee and I haven’t fixed my make-up yet. Keep him busy for a second or two, please?’ She frantically scooped up her make-up bag and sprinted as fast as she could to the bathroom at the back of the salon.
‘Sure,’ Myf said in a laughter-filled voice as the bathroom door slammed.
Ben pulled up outside Babyface, experiencing an unfamiliar sense of anticipation. Checking through the barbershop window and seeing it was empty, he pushed open the door of the salon next door.
The first thing that struck him was the scent he’d noticed on his first visit. It was stronger this side. A combination of chocolate cake and vanilla, mixed with the various faintly floral, ammonia and acetone smells characteristic of the female
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