by M. C. Cerny
Love Actually
A Love By Design Novel
M.C. Cerny
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A Note About The Series
Welcome to New Paltz, NY. The town is real, but these characters are made up – just don’t tell the voices in my head. Spoiler alert! Everyone gets a happily ever after. It’s a small town romance with a big heart. Second chances to get it right, surprises, babies, and house flipping fun. Each book in the series is written to be read as a standalone, but most readers prefer to follow the general series order.
First Love - Prequel
Love Under Construction
Unlovely Things
Heartburn
Tailwind
Love Actually
Mission For Love
Mine To Keep
Love On Tap
Contents
Love Actually
1. Louisa
2. Carmen
3. Louisa
4. Carmen
5. Louisa
6. Carmen
7. Louisa
8. Carmen
9. Louisa
10. Carmen
11. Louisa
12. Carmen
13. Louisa
14. Carmen
15. Louisa
16. Carmen
17. Louisa
18. Carmen
19. Louisa
20. Carmen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Mission For Love
Books by M.C. Cerny
About the Author
Copyright
Love Actually
Carmen Malone’s love life was sadder than a soufflé. Every new relationship puffed up with hope and then fizzled just as quickly once her partners got comfortable. Was is possible she was a magnet for all the cheaters in the Tri-state area? She was in love with the idea of love, and the perfect relationship, but had no idea how to execute it unless it was in the form of a twelve tier wedding cake…complicated, covered in fondant, and sticky sweet.
Louisa Cox could spot a bad dye job and split ends a mile away. Her salon, the Vodka and Wash was the best day spa boutique in upstate NY. She worked her tail off to get this far in her career, and for what it was worth, she wasn’t about to lose it…until Carmen walked in looking like Medusa with trust issues as wide as the Grand Canyon. Louisa was willing to give love a second chance, but a reluctant Carmen shot her down.
Carmen was stuck between a doughnut and a croissant and there was no cronut on the planet that could help her figure it out. Guys? Girls? It was a nightmare series of bad dates until she met Louisa. Now she has to decide, keep pleasing those around her or step out and start pleasing herself?
1
Louisa
“Damn girl. That is one hell of a dye job.” Kristen Calloway, a close friend from high school eyed up the new girl who stepped inside my shop looking like Medusa. I turned around so my eye roll wouldn’t be seen in the floor length mirrors. My business, the Vodka and Wash was my baby, and I spent every moment learning cosmetology and every penny I saved building the shop. Customer service was my jam.
I sneaked a peek in the mirror and had to duck pretending to pick up a comb off the floor. Standing up I pushed my thick black framed glasses up my nose. “Holy shit.” I muttered under my breath in half shock and half horror at the train wreck limping into my station. It was bad. Actually, I don’t think bad quantified the unexplainable frizzy disaster and unknown mishmash of color and bleached streaks. My hairdresser heart bled for the poor soul attached to what I hoped was possibly a wig, a dead animal, or a poorly executed joke.
Kristen lamely attempted to occupy herself from behind the latest issue of People magazine and another royal escapade. Her low whistle definitely did not denote appreciation and I immediately felt awful. No one with the exception of a few mean girls, the biddies who beat me at Bridge club, and my ex deserved a bad hair day.
I secretly prided myself on fixing the unfixable and making everyone who walked out the door feel and look like a million bucks. I considered myself the Countess of Clairol, The Duchess of Dyes, and the Queen Bee of Balayage. The front wall showcased my awards and considering I was a level five stylist, I commanded a pretty decent pay. Heck, in the state this walk-in presented, I would do her solid and charge her as a level two stylist if it meant fixing the horror story on top of her head.
Clearly, my altruism for good hair everywhere trumped my need for accolades.
The woman in question carried herself with a sad look that bypassed the all-night-bender with her besties and went straight to the bad hair.
Well–whatever she had attempted.
I caught her looking around nervously, a scarf wrapped around her head like a pin up girl from the forties. It did nothing to hide to the chunks of badly dyed killer clown color and bleach that had stripped the hair. Frizzy ends didn’t help the growing mound of whatever the hell was under the scarf, but curiosity ate away at me.
As an experienced hair artist, I wanted my hands all over this woman’s head. Frankly, I wanted my hands all over her period, but that was a thought for another day.
I didn’t do clients.
That was how I got into the mess with my ex. Sydney sucker punched my ability to trust and I was still unearthing myself from that legal mess.
As for the pretty woman sporting a shag carpet on her head…her skittish movements didn’t suggest she was my type. Considering she was in crisis mode, I didn’t think a conversation opener during work hours should start with, “Hey, I know we just met, but here’s my number.”
Yeah, nope, not so much.
“Help me, please!” Anxiety rolled off her shoulders like a runaway train and I pointed to the open stylist chair next to me. She barely moved inching closer.
“Girl, you got something frightening going on under there.” Gemma, my second stylist on staff hooted and ushered the girl to the seat next to my current station where Lia Faust sat, hair blown out in violet waves freshly done by yours truly.
“Where’s Tommy?” I looked around for my brother who was a highly sought after color specialist. I could use his thoughts on fixing this chemical implosion of color.
“He’s coming in later to…do Francesca.” Gemma smiled. The implication was clear. My brother had a huge crush on the slightly older woman who stopped in every six weeks between visiting her family here and living in New York City. Tommy tended to be exceptionally timely when Francesca was on his client roster, but for some reason he was missing this morning.
My assistant ushered my timid client to the chair. Gemma was harmless, but she had a brash way of barging in and I didn’t think this poor girl was up for her antics.
“Her hair or Francesca?” Snickering, Kristen chimed in over the pages of her magazine from under the dryer. I shushed her with a look and she rolled her eyes waving me off.
Who was I to judge Tommy’s obsession with the cougar that had been coming regularly for the last year. Tommy was an expert stylist who happened to be easy on the eyes. He had quite a few ladies eating out of his palm between the collection of tattoos, skinny jeans, and slightly goth apparel. Francesca Wilson was only a handful of years older than my jailbait brother. His relationship or lack there of wasn’t for me to police, but I wished those two would bang and get over it with so we
could get back to some normalcy in the shop.
I shifted my focus back to the client, “Come on over babe, we don’t bite.”
I might have thought twice about my instant attraction to the clown head sitting down, but her sharp eyes and thin angular features drew me in. There was a depth behind them I hadn’t seen in anyone before. Smiling, I patted the chair and nodded to Gemma.
“Thanks, Louisa.” Lia whirled around in the chair taking the mirror I held out. She nodded appreciatively eying the lighter violet color I added throughout her dark hair with deeper purple hues. The well blended ombre highlights made her eyes pop and gave her an edgy look.
I wrapped up my time with Lia saying, “I hope Whit likes it.” At the mention of her lumberjack boyfriend, her face lit up like a firework. She’d been faithfully coming to the Vodka and Wash since I opened and I was happy to help out a fellow girl in need of color.
“I’m not sure what he would do if I didn’t keep it up. I don’t think he’s seen me without it.” The mischievous smile told me everything I needed to know and more I didn’t want to know about my straight friend’s active sex life. I’d make sure we kept her color Purple Reign in stock and leave it at that.
“Nothing like a little refresher to boost your spirits. Now let’s see what we’ve um…got…under here.” I urged the new nameless client to take off her head covering, but she shook her head no.
“It’s really bad.” She said, her lip quivered and I shut my eyes trying to imagine other things than the instant attraction and desire to bite her plump lip.
“Err…it’s going to be hard to…” I said waiving my hand at the mess. I was puzzled since she came to my salon. I couldn’t wave a wand and make it poof disappear, she was going to have to help me out. She hesitated with those large eyes, a soft hazel color that popped from under her less than delicately arched brown brows. We were going to have our work cut out for us chiseling underneath this blank slate of marble if she let me.
It was no secret I was into chicks, had been since eighth grade and I realized Noah Pettigrew kissed like a frog. It didn’t matter that he was my prom date years later and the one and only guy I slept with. I still thought guys were toads, sexually.
I couldn’t get a read on this one, so I kept myself extra professional in case I was totally wrong. My radar wasn’t perfect after my last break up. Sydney had done a number on my self-esteem. I didn’t mind flirting, even with my straight friends, but I would never make someone feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my style and if all I wanted was a quick hook up, I had plenty of places I could go for that and a favorite club in the city. Poaching clients was not the way I went about it and I needed to halt the hormone coaster that directed my heart careening toward bad decisions.
“Go ahead, Louisa is the best. She can fix anything.” Lia was sweet to give me a recommendation. Slowly she untied the fabric and pulled it from her head. The salon was quiet as we all held our breath.
The proverbial pin dropped.
“Ekkk, maybe not that.” Gemma squealed and ran to the front door to lock the shop up and threw the closed sign over the glass door facing the street. Sighing deeply, I agreed that no one needed to see this hair crime if we could help it, but not at hurting this poor girl’s feelings. It would be worth shutting the shop down to fix this hair disaster, besides, Tommy had his own set of keys for whenever he came in later gracing us with his presence.
“Gemma.” I warned.
My assistant scurried to the front counter and scrolled through the appointment book.
“No other appointments until 3pm.”
She winked and I huffed.
“We’ll call in a long lunch and have Dingleberries drop something off.” The vegan café had legendary veggie wraps and this was not going to be a single hair process coloring treatment today. Lia turned up her nose, obviously still not over her man and the owner of Dingleberries having a thing before she came into the picture. Too bad for Lia, I wasn’t missing out on a roasted red pepper and hummus wrap for her snit today.
“I think that’s for the best. Wrap platter with salads?” Gemma asked with her phone at the ready to send in the mobile order.
“Oh for crying out loud, it’s not that bad,” I said sharply. Unfortunately, Gemma, Lia, Kristen, and myself had all cocked our heads looking at the mess of color on this poor woman’s head. I had trouble identifying the color family and pushed the strands apart to find the original color growth from the root barely peeking through. From the smell of cheap drug store peroxide, this disaster was at least 10-12 hours old.
Damn.
Fresh chemicals always made things trickier.
“Oh it’s bad. Let’s not mash potatoes about it.” She scoffed and I thought she was adorable and refreshingly honest. Of course it was bad, but I still had some class and tact about it.
Or at least I tried to.
“Gemma,” I waved at my assistant. “You might want to pull the blinds.” I motioned for her to close the blinds that opened up a view toward the street. We didn’t need an audience for what we were about to do in here.
Straight up witchy voodoo was about to happen.
“It’s different.” Standing shoulder to shoulder Lia remarked in a low whisper, and I had to agree with her. Different as in Halloween was a good seven months away.
“Who did this to you, honey? You better tell us now so we can go run them out of town.” Gemma patted her hand and I huffed thinking about who could have butchered color this badly, even a do-it-at-home project. Only an idiot devoid of any understanding how chemicals work with hair shafts…
“I did.” She said biting her lip looking back at us in the mirror.
She did what?
Did I hear her correctly? She actually did this to herself?
Oh sweet baby Jesus.
I was flummoxed, that was for sure.
“What?” Three voices in unison were as shocked as I was.
“Gemma, go get me the color scrub and the bible.”
“Are we praying too?” The woman hesitated with worry etching deep lines across her face.
“No honey, it’s so we can find the right shade for this…um…situation.” I twirled my finger in the air and sent my assistant flurrying to the back to fetch the conditioning bleach which I was fully aware was a complete oxymoron because this color had to go. I did however say a mental prayer that the color book we used to find the right shade, aka every hair stylists’ bible would shed some light on what to do.
“Oh good…I’m a situation now.” She muttered picking at the invisible lint on her skinny jeans I shouldn’t have been noticing.
“More like Doomsday.” Kristen muttered and I glared at her.
“Kristen, didn’t you have somewhere to be?” I warned.
She shrugged and shook out her magazine mumbling, “Might need a grimoire and not a bible for this, besides Gemma called in lunch and I’m starved.”
Kristen might be one of my best friends from high school and smoky eye days, but this bitch was going to get magenta highlights next time instead of the deep vamp red if she pissed me off.
“Alright, we’re going to be here a while.” I clapped my hands ordering everyone about. “Lia, go grab the coffee and food from the café because delivery will be too slow with the lunch hour, please.”
Lia scowled, but collected her purse anyway. She needed the cognitive intervention to get over her aversion to Dingleberries. She huffed and puffed like a growly little bear cub since she learned her much older and experienced man-bear hooked up with the hippie girl Callista who owned the place. Sweet Lia had nothing to worry about. Whittaker Jones loved her like crazy, but she’d learn that with age and experience which I didn’t have time or patience to help her with today.
I snapped my fingers.
“Kristen help Gemma mix up some scrub to strip this color.” Startled, the woman’s face frowned and she looked around the salon likely for an exit. Laughing to myself, this would have been the pe
rfect time to have those silk ties for the chair’s arm rests but we had work to do and kinky shit would have to be for another day.
“Gotcha!” Gemma and Kristen yelled at once. Lia left out the back door and my two helpers went to work in the mixing room.
“You can fix this?” she whispered.
“Honey, I can fix anything with hair. By the way, I’m Louisa and I own the shop here.” Confidence typically closed the deal and the woman shut her eyes taking a deep breath. Relief seemed to flush her cheeks as she sagged into the chair.
“Hi, I’m Carmen, and I am never coloring my hair again.” She relaxed and I squeezed her arm gently, reassuringly thankful the lines blurred a bit for women to share physical contact in a situation like this. I’m sure if I was dude she would have bolted already.
“I’m going to make you promise that when we finish here today.” I held out my pinkie which she took in her own and we shook on it.
“Trust me.” Rolling her eyes, she continued, “I’m over the box shit. I’m a baker, I should know better. I don’t even use box mixes for baking. I don’t know what I was thinking with my hair.” That must explain the sweet smell coming from her skin making my mouth water.
“Why don’t you start by telling me what prompted you to do it in the first place.”
“Well, I decided I was off the man train and wanted a change.” Bingo. Carmen was not only my new project, but my next official girl crush. No one runs to Lady Clairol without some serious reasons or stubborn greys, and I was determined to learn all of her secrets and maybe see if her Chapstick covered lips tasted like cherries.
