Marrying The Single Dad. Melinda Curtis

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       CHAPTER THREE

      “DON’T CHANGE ANOTHER THING.”

      Brit pulled her head out of the supply cabinet filled with sixty years of barbershop supplies. She stared at Grandpa Phil, at his sweet lined face and his short-sleeve, wrinkled white button-down. He looked as outdated as the decades-old box of men’s hair color in her hand.

      That will not be me fifty years from now.

      “I’m not changing anything.” Brit added the box of hair color to the already full trash can. “I’m cleaning.”

      “Something’s changed.” Grandpa Phil’s hands shook as he held the open newspaper, but they didn’t shake with anger. His hands always trembled nowadays. “You hung an old bicycle on my wall. What will you dig out of the trash next? A pair of worn sneakers?”

      “It’s called upcycling. Repurposing things that have been thrown away. People like it. I like it.” She may be a beautician by trade, but in her heart she was an artist. An artist who’d been commissioned for her work.

      “People don’t like change,” Grandpa Phil said, raising his newspaper higher so she couldn’t see his face.

      “Meaning you? Or your customers?” Few as they might be. “Or perhaps those retired friends of yours who like to gossip and play checkers all day at Martin’s Bakery?”

      “I’ll have you know that playing checkers keeps me mentally sharp.” Phil turned a page and rattled the newspaper. “I’m sharper than the reporter who wrote this article on local crime in Cloverdale. He said they arrested a catfish.”

      Brit didn’t bother explaining the social-media term that referred to taking on a false persona to scam someone. The fact that the reporter was accurate would only make Grandpa more upset. And given that Brit wasn’t exactly in a Zen mood, she didn’t need him wound up, too.

      “Now, don’t change anything else or you can go live with your grandmother like Regina did.”

      Brit contained a shudder. Grandmother Leona was the Captain Bligh of Harmony Valley. She ran a tight ship and just being around her made Brit want to mutiny.

      When Reggie announced she needed a break from corporate America and was moving to Harmony Valley to run a B and B—Leona’s B and B—Brit had been happy for her. And truth be told, she’d also been a tad envious. Had Brit taken a running leap toward her dreams of being an artist? Nope. There’d been too many excuses—Dad’s death, bills, the price of scrap and metal—and too much doubt—she’d talked through the logistics of almost every project with Dad. Could she create her art without him?

      If she wasn’t careful, she was going to be eighty and her only legacy worth noting would be Keira.

      So she’d followed Reggie to Harmony Valley. She’d convinced Grandpa Phil to rent her a station in the barbershop and a bedroom in his home for figures significantly below those she paid in San Francisco. She told Reggie she was moving to the small, remote town in the easternmost corner of Sonoma County to lend her support. And she’d told herself that she’d work half days at the shop and the rest of the time on her art.

      The barbershop door opened and the town council began to enter. The three elderly women had stopped by earlier to introduce themselves, and this time they’d brought gifts—cleaning supplies.

      Brit sighed with relief.

      “Here we go,” Phil muttered.

      “We thought you could use some help cleaning.” Agnes planted a bucket and a mop near Phil. Her stature—small and unassuming—was at odds with her nature—big and confident. Her pixie-cut hair was as dull gray as Phil’s, but her eyes were sharper than Brit’s thinning shears.

      Rose danced in, holding the broom like a waltz partner. She was as slender as a ballerina and her ivory chignon was just as tight as it would СКАЧАТЬ