Her life suddenly had purpose and meaning. She, the workaholic, the old maid, the crazy cat lady, had a date that night. It was a blind date, and she hadn’t laid eyes on the guy yet, but from their computer conversations and instant messages over the last month, she felt she could honestly say, ‘He’s the one.’ As the glass door swung shut behind her, she searched for her usual stylist, Deborah. The short, blonde, perky hairdresser was nowhere to be seen. Am I early? Bridget glanced at the gold watch on her slender wrist. Right on time, as usual. She felt a twinge of impatience—after all, she looked like crap and needed to look her absolute best (not that that was much better than the way she looked now) for the upcoming night. Where in the world is she? Usually Deborah was awaiting her arrival, eager to escort her to the designated chair. Bridget glanced at the front desk. That hot guy is manning the desk today. Damn. She’d seen him every time she came for her monthly appointment, but had never spoken to him.
