Identity

“Trust me. You’re going to love it.” After the shampoo, which felt wonderful, Morgan sat back in the chair. Sounds and scents bounced around the salon as Renee snipped.

She’d never spent much time in salons, just a quick cut every six weeks or so. In and out. Here people seemed to linger, holding conversations in the pedicure chairs or at the manicure tables, while more voices, the snap of scissors or buzz of razors carried around with voices from the chairs.

Like a bar, she realized, it was a kind of world with regulars, walk-ins, and those who served them.

“It’s a good cut,” Renee decided as she squirted something in her hands, rubbed them together. “And you got body, so you won’t need a lot of product unless you want to fuss it up. You get some of what I’m using.” She began combing her fingers through again. “Like this, before you blow-dry. Or you can use it between shampoos on dry hair.”

“Okay.”

Renee smiled as she began to wield the blow-dryer and a brush. “Watch what I’m doing here. It’ll be easy to maintain. You’re going to have the sassy, the layers, a touch of shaggy, right? And this long sweep of fringe from right to left. Got your bold. It’s not going to look all done up, and it’ll have nice movement.”

Amazed, Morgan watched the transformation until she sat complete. Gone was the blunt, angled cut she’d worn before. Gone the admittedly inexpert attempts to trim.

Her hair looked fresh and fun, and no, not all done up, which she didn’t have the time or skill to maintain.

What she had? Easy, casual, and—she supposed—bold and sassy.

She lifted her gaze to Renee’s in the mirror. “I will never snip again.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Can I book an appointment for when you think I need it done again?”

“I like hearing that even more. We’ll set you up.”

She drove to the nursery a few miles outside of the town proper, bought pansies and pots and everything she needed to plant them.

When she heard her ladies come home, she poured wine.

“Morgan, the pansies! They’re so sweet! Something smells so good. Did you cook? It’s not your day to— Oh my God!” Her mother stopped dead. “Your hair. Your hair’s adorable!”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Turn around, turn around. I love it. Mom, look at our girl!”

“I am. It suits you. Young, confident. What are you making here?”

“I found a recipe for leftover chicken, and it seemed easy. It always seems easier than it is, so I won’t believe that again. But I think it’s good. I tasted it, and I think it’s good. Chicken chili.”

“What a surprise. Three surprises at once. And all wonderful.” Audrey took the wine. “What a busy day you’ve had.”

“It felt good. It all felt good.”

“Let’s all sit down a minute.” Olivia picked up her wine. “And feel good.”



* * *



When Nell hustled into the bar just before noon, Morgan stood behind the bar handling the setup.

“First, great hair.”

“Thanks. Can I get you something?”

“Not yet. Where’s Nick?”

“In the dentist’s chair getting a root canal.”

“Ouch.” Instinctively Nell sucked air between her teeth.

“Reminds me to get a local dentist.”

“Are you working a double? Couldn’t you get anyone to cover?”

“Charlene’s kid’s home sick. Rob has two classes today and finals coming up, so I didn’t want to pull him in. I’d have tried Becs but she worked a double yesterday because Charlene has a sick kid. The Lodge has a private event so it didn’t make sense to tap them when I could come in. It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

“How sick? Which kid? Jack or Lilah?”

“Jack, and his fever broke this morning. He’s better.” And it mattered, Morgan thought, that Nell had asked, and knew the names of Charlene’s children.

“Okay then. My brothers are coming in. We’re having a meeting, grabbing some food.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m early. Miles will be on time. Liam will be late.” Sliding onto a stool, she tapped the sign placed in front of sprigs of lavender in a bud vase. “So?”

“Moving nicely. Group of five—spa packages, annual repeaters—ordered two rounds. Want to try one?”

“Not yet. My mother said the one you had delivered to her was delicious. That was cagey of you, pinning her location, sending her one. I respect cagey.”

“I’m glad she liked it.”

“She did. Actually, I could use a latte.”

“How about a lavender latte?”

The look that crossed Nell’s face combined fascination with horror. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not. You game?”

“If I say no, I’m a weenie. And that’s more cagey.”

“You’re no weenie.” Morgan walked to the coffee machine. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you a regular. I heard about the new summer event—the Picnic by the Lake.”

“Really?” Shifting, Nell watched Morgan work. “Word travels.”

“It does if you listen. It’s a great idea. Yours?”

“Something my mother and I came up with brainstorming.”

“Good brains. I’m going to have staff fighting duels to work it. And it’s a way to keep things fresh and new. Like a lavender latte,” she said as she set the oversize cup in front of Nell.

“We’ll see about that. Have you heard about the ropes course?”

“No. I’m obviously not listening hard enough. You’re adding a ropes course?”

“It’s Liam’s baby, and why we’re meeting today, or mostly.” She paused to take a cautious sip of coffee. Then another. “And okay, this is really good. Who the hell thinks of things like this?”

“I think it got its jump start in Asia.”

“Wherever.” She sipped again. “I’ll have my assistant make up another sign. Which, from the smug look on your face, you hoped for.”

“Is this my smug look?” Morgan patted her hands on her face. “I thought I put on my quietly satisfied look. Something like this wouldn’t have gone over at the Next Round, but with your clientele, it’ll work. Keep it priced for the season the same as a standard latte—the cost in additional ingredients and labor is minimal—and we’ll move it.”

“Done. Miles.” Nell shifted again as her brother walked in. “Taste this.”

He shook his head, looked at Morgan. “Black coffee. Did you shift to days?”

“Root canal,” Nell began, “sick kid, finals. She’s pulling a double. One taste.”

“Jesus.” He took a quick glug, then looked sincerely baffled. “Flowered coffee? Why?”

“Miles is a coffee purist. It’s not coffee unless it’s black.”

“Then this should fill the bill.”

“Right. Liam’ll have a Coke when he gets here.”

“Cheese fries with that?”

Miles held Morgan’s gaze. No, not a pretty show horse, she thought again. But a really, seriously great-looking workhorse.

“Probably. We’ll grab a booth in the back.”

Still no suit, Morgan noted as they walked away. Black trousers, crisp blue shirt, good shoes—which he wore as easily as his blunt attitude.

She’d gauged Nell as a tough nut, but she’d made some cracks there. Miles struck her as tougher yet, but she’d find a way.