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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.shellistevens.com.




Melting Point



“You’re sure the cut doesn’t make me look too frumpy?”

Heather squeezed her fingers around the styling brush, and kept an encouraging smile pasted on her face. The salon was almost empty. Just her, the customer, and Bing Crosby singing White Christmas. Again.

“You look fantastic, Georgiana.” Heather touched the edges of the older woman’s bob. The same haircut she asked for every three months.

“Well.” The older woman tilted her head left and then right. She gave a slow nod and smiled. “Yes. Yes I suppose it does. Henry will be so pleased.”

“Of course he will.” Heather unfastened the black apron from around her client’s neck and lowered her chair so the petite woman could stand up. “Alright, let’s get you on your way to your holiday party.”

And maybe she could run home quickly before attempting to get to her cousin’s party as well.

A half hour later she fumbled to lock up her shop, clutching her long faux fur jacket around her festive red halter dress. God, it was colder than a witch’s tit out here.

She turned from her shop and shivered, pulling the Santa hat tighter around her ears. Okay, it wasn’t a wool cap or something equally warm, but it would have to do.

Glancing down at the traffic flow of First Avenue, she was surprised at how light it was. Her brows drew together as she watched for a cab to take her home. It was the Saturday before Christmas, you’d think everyone and their mom would be out and about.

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