Chapter 19

“Look what I caught lurking by the window,” she called in that sugar-sweet tone.

Ali emerged from the back room to find Yazid standing by the desk, hands in pockets and looking—as he usually did in the salon—somewhere between shy and amused.

“Why’d you let that scruffy lout in?” Ali complained, and Yazid scowled.

“Oh, I’m sure we can sort him out,” Sharon chortled, ruffling her fingers through Yazid’s hair.

Sharon was nearly sixty, and the kind of woman who seemed to think gay men were automatically about fifty percent better-looking than their straight counterparts. Ali hadn’t quite worked out yet if he found her petting of Yazid funny, or a little bit offensive.

“Why don’t you sit yourself down, Yazid, honey, and we can sort out that mop, eh?”

“Er, I was just planning to steal Ali for his lunch break, actually.”

“On the house, honey!”

“No, Shaz,” Ali said, relenting at the pleading expression Yazid threw his way. “God knows why, but he likes it that way.”