The Prince Charming List (2 page)

W
hoever described small towns as sleepy had never been to Prichett. Tiny as it was, Prichett packed the energy of a double shot of espresso. I’d finally fallen asleep about four in the morning and that was only because Snap, Bernice’s cat, suddenly decided to live up to her name and hissed at me when I rolled onto her tail. Apparently my restlessness was the only thing keeping her from her beauty sleep. I settled down out of embarrassment and the next thing I knew it was six o’clock and the sound of voices was tapping against my dreams.

Wrapping an afghan around my shoulders, I scuttled over to the window to check out the early birds. The recycling truck was idling on the street right below and one of the guys started to whistle an upbeat version of “Going to the Chapel.” I recognized him from the reception. The ceremony had been small, but the guest list for the reception afterward must have included most of the town.

Bernice and Alex had left for their European honeymoon just a few hours after the gift opening the day before, leaving me to take up Bernice’s exalted scissors and run the Cut and Curl for the next eight weeks. Being a Minnesota girl myself, I knew that eight weeks was all the summer a person could hope to squeeze out of this part of Wisconsin.

One glance at the clock on the wall and I should have been sprinting toward the shower. Instead, I leaped back into bed and dove under the covers. What had I been thinking? All I had was a certificate from cosmetology school in my suitcase and four—count them—encouraging parents who didn’t seem to have a doubt that I could manage the salon.
Manage
.

Bernice had planned to close the salon for the summer until I’d blithely told her that I didn’t have any plans yet (translation: no job) and if she wanted to keep the salon open, I could run it for her. It had seemed so doable. Then. Now, I was in a panic. Curse my impulsive tendencies. No wonder Mom and Dad had to put me on one of those wrist tethers when we went to Disney World (yet another unforgettable photo in my Blooper album) when I was two.

I did a quick search above the comforter and my fingers brushed against Snap’s silky ear. Aha. Animals were therapeutic. A warm, seven-pound stress reliever. The next best thing to chocolate chip cookie dough. I wrapped my hand around her belly and pulled her under the covers, into the tunnel of denial. She must have sensed my distress because instead of signing her name on my face with her claws, she burrowed closer and hiccupped. Which jump-started a soothing, uneven purr.

Lord, I am absolutely crazy. Mama B has a ton of loyal customers and please, just please, let them hang in there until she gets back….

Bernice hadn’t even given me a list of things to do at the salon. Since she wasn’t just the owner of the Cut and Curl but also the only employee, she said it really wasn’t that complicated. There were no internal struggles, either, unless a person counted the battle between her and her self-control over the candy drawer in the back room. Which she’d stocked before she left. I’d checked. She’d given me a turbo-lesson in how to do the banking and assured me the “regulars” would fill me in if I had any questions. And I could call her anytime—day or night—if I needed anything.

When I’d looked over her shoulder at the appointment book, I noticed the month of June was already booked solid. That would make it easy. Then Bernice had mentioned she’d deliberately penciled in the
low-maintenance
customers after one o’clock so I’d end the day on a good note. I was pretty sure that low maintenance had nothing to do with their hairstyle.

The memory opened up a hole that my stomach dropped through.

“We can do this, can’t we, Snap?”

Her eyes narrowed in kitty amusement.

“Everyone else believes in me.” I felt the need to remind her. “And if this isn’t going to be a relationship based on mutual encouragement, I’m going to bring Colonel Mustard to live with us for the next two months.”

Colonel Mustard was a basset hound everyone thought Alex had taken in out of the goodness of his heart, but he’d told me, when Bernice wasn’t around, it had really been a pathetic need to win friends and influence people in Prichett. When I persuaded them to let me move into Bernice’s apartment above the Cut and Curl instead of her and Alex’s house just outside of town, Bree had told me the Colonel could bunk with Clancy, their golden retriever, for the summer. So far, the dogs were doing fine, but if Snap needed empathy lessons, I was sure I could get him back.

Alex and Bernice had planned to fix up the apartment and rent it out when they got back from their honeymoon. Bernice’s snow globe collection had been carefully transported to the new house, but she’d left most of her furniture behind. It was perfect.

There were three reasons I wanted to live in the apartment but only two I was willing to share if anyone asked me why I preferred a cramped apartment with no shower to an adorable remodeled house in the country. The first two were easy—the apartment was convenient and it was so unique I’d fallen in love with it. The plaster ceilings were high, and the walls in the living room were the original brick. The polish on the hardwood floor had been scuffed to the bare wood in places. The wall-to-wall row of windows that overlooked Main Street welcomed the sunlight all day and I’d already decided to fill the space with plants.

The third reason—the one only my journal knew about—was harder to put into words. Even for me. Bernice and I had only met the summer before and had slowly been getting to know each other through long-distance telephone calls and e-mails. I thought that by living in her apartment, I might get to soak in a bit more of who she was. She’d welcomed me with open arms when I’d shown up unexpectedly at the Cut and Curl one day. She was a new believer—God’s timing is always amazing—and she told me she was happy to have a chance to know me, but she’d let me set the boundaries of our relationship. Which was easy because I couldn’t think of any.

The alarm went off, rudely reminding me that I was a working girl now. Not that I hadn’t held a job before, but this couldn’t compare to making smoothies at the Fun Fruit Factory.

On my way to the kitchen, I passed the black-and-white movie posters that Bernice had left on the wall.
Giant. Camelot. To Catch A Thief. You’ve Got Mail.
Even though I loved movies, I’d only seen the last one. Bree didn’t know it yet, but I planned to lure her to the apartment with M&M’s for a movie marathon some weekend.

I popped a bagel into the toaster. Now it was time to face the
big
question. What to wear on my first day of work? Dressy or casual? If I went too dressy, I could be labeled a snob. Too casual and it would look like I didn’t care. Again being labeled a snob.

There was a knock on the door and I squeaked in surprise. It was only seven o’clock in the morning. I had an hour before the Cut and Curl opened. Maybe it was Bree bearing cinnamon rolls. Yum.

“Hey!” I swung the door open. “You’re a—”

A strange guy.

I slammed the door and put my shoulder against it, my fingers fumbling against the frame for a row of locks that didn’t exist. My mother had taught me well.

There was a few seconds of silence and then another hesitant tap on the door.

“Who is it?” I winced. What a dumb question. He could make up any name he wanted and, being the new kid on the block, I wouldn’t recognize it.

Bernice’s door was oak and I could barely make out the muffled mutterings of Strange Guy. I opened it a crack, glad that Dad had insisted I take self-defense classes in high school.

I have a brown belt, buddy. And, according to the Psalms, a few angels camped around me.

Strange Guy stood on the top step and, from what I could see of him through the few inches that separated us, he looked pretty harmless. He was tall but more lanky than muscular.

“Heather, right?”

“Yes.” I drew the word out, not sure how much info to give him as my brain quickly downloaded the Stranger Danger curriculum I’d learned in second grade.

“I’m Ian Dexter.”
And you must be paranoid.

I could read it in his eyes. Eyes that were centered behind thick black frames.

“Didn’t Mr. Scott mention I’d be stopping over?”

The handyman. Heather thy name is Stupid. Alex had mentioned that he’d hired Pastor Charles’s nephew, who was staying with them for the summer, to do some general fixer-up type of stuff while I was at the salon during the day. I just didn’t think he’d show up at seven in the morning. And I assumed it would be a teenager, not someone close to my age.

“I guess so. He just forgot to mention you’d be here so early.”
Or that you’d be here today.

“I wanted to talk to you before you left for work,” Ian said, injecting a tiny pause between each word in the same tone a person might use if they were talking someone down from a ledge. “If I know your schedule, I won’t get in your way.”

Too late!

I sucked in my bottom lip. “Can you come back in fifteen minutes? I got up late and I’m not exactly…ready for company.”

He stared at me, puzzled. Right away I knew what box to put Ian Dexter in. I’d seen that expression before. He lived in an alternate universe. The alternate universe where moving to the next level is the reason for existence. The world of video games.

“I’m not dressed yet.” I’d learned with this type of guy you just have to spell things out. They were really good at defeating fire-breathing monsters but not so skilled at holding up their end of a conversation. Unless I was a two-dimensional fairy princess. Then maybe.

“Oh. Right.” Ian’s face turned the same shade of scarlet as Bree’s cowboy boots. “I’ll, um, come back then.”

“Ten minutes.”

Ian’s unexpected appearance shaved precious minutes off my dressy versus casual quandary. By the time I remembered my bagel, I found it lodged in the bottom of the toaster, resembling a charred hockey puck. No time for breakfast. No time to linger over the contents of my closet now.

When in doubt, upgrade to suede. In questionable weather, go with leather.

They weren’t exactly pearls of wisdom for modern man, but they had the potential to solve a possible wardrobe malfunction. I decided on a cute skirt—suede, of course—a shirt with a geometric print I’d bought when I was in Paris and a comfortable pair of shoes because I’d be on my feet all day.

The butterflies in my stomach, which had settled briefly while I decided what to wear, came to life and began to perform impressive loops and dives. Maybe it was a blessing I hadn’t eaten that bagel.

Snap wound herself around my feet as I poured myself a glass of juice. “At least one of us has time for breakfast,” I muttered, serving her a dish of fish-shaped kibbles and replenishing her water bowl.

My Bible was on the counter and, while I rummaged in the drawer for a granola bar, I leaned over to skim the page in a search for spiritual sustenance. As devotional times went, this was pretty sad. Especially when I needed God’s strength more than ever to get me through my first day at the Cut and Curl. For some reason, my Bible was open to Haggai, which consisted of a whopping two chapters, easily overlooked between the two Z’s—Zephaniah and Zechariah.

In the interest of time, I couldn’t turn to the Psalms, my devotional favorite. Haggai would have to be it. I skimmed through the verses until one jumped out at me.

Then Haggai, the Lord’s messenger, gave this message of the Lord to the people: “I am with you,” declares the Lord.

I am with you.

Just the reminder I needed. And humbling. Like going to a potluck dinner empty-handed and leaving with a full tummy. I’d offered God the crumbs of my chaotic morning and He responded with a banquet…

Ian Dexter was at the door again. I studied him without making it obvious I was studying him. Looks-wise, he fell into the same category as my brown leather purse. Not attractive enough to gush over and show off to your friends but not stash-in-the-closet unattractive, either. His short hair was dark brown; his nose was straight and narrow and clearly not up to the task of supporting those heavy glasses. His eyebrows were full but at least there were two of them. He was wearing a pair of paint-spattered blue jeans straight out of a bin from a discount store and a sweatshirt with a faded, peeling logo that I couldn’t decipher. School of Zelda perhaps?

“What did Alex hire you to do?” I didn’t want him changing things too much. As far as I was concerned, the apartment was as close to perfect as you could get.

Instead of answering my question, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. Cheat sheets. Why wasn’t I surprised?

“Paint bathroom. Replace faucet in tub and sink. Cabinets in kitchen—rip out and replace or paint. Heather’s choice.” I smiled when I read that. “Varnish floor in living room. Pantry needs shelves. Wow, you’re going to be pretty busy, Ian.”

“Everyone calls me Dex.” He refolded the list carefully and tucked it back into his pocket. “What time are you done with work?”

“Five o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Seven o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Three o’clock on Saturday. Closed on Sunday.” I recited Bernice’s standard hours. She’d told me I could close at five on Tuesdays and Thursdays, too, but I didn’t want to test anyone’s loyalty. My goal was to gain a few new clients by the time Bernice got back from Europe, not lose any of her regulars.