Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(22)

A man sat high up in a chair with his head leaned back. His entire face was wrapped in steaming towels as the barber attended to another man at the counter. The cash register dinged and sprang open, reminding me of a place my mother used to take me to for ice cream when I was a child. Made of solid metal with gold lettering, the old piece of machinery didn’t even plug into the wall. It was probably older than all three of us combined.

“Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?” the elderly barber asked while walking back to his steaming client.

I watched as he unwrapped the towels to reveal dewy pink skin and a relaxed happy face.

“We were hoping you might be able to do a couple of shaves today?” Marcus inquired.

He nodded, pumping the hydraulics on the chair a few times to bring the man down to his eye-level.

“Sure can. Special occasion?” he inquired.

“This man is going to become my son-in-law today,” Marcus stated proudly, patting me on the back.

My face curled into a half grin as I felt his fingers gripping my shoulder. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the love this man had for me. I felt undeserving of it, yet I never wanted to let go of a single drop of the overwhelming joy he had when he looked at me with such pride.

“Well, that is quite a celebration. Can’t show up at your wedding without a proper shave. Give me a minute to finish up Dale here, and I’ll be right with you.”

The three of us headed to the old plastic chairs over in the corner to take our seats. I snickered a bit when I saw Brian’s eyes go wide as he sat down and felt the legs wobble slightly. Like the owner, everything in this establishment was old, including the rinky-dink chairs we were occupying. I wasn’t sure they were used to holding a former high school linebacker like Brian. Hell, even my chair was bowing a little, and I hadn’t been hitting the gym nearly as often as I once had.

After several minutes of small talk and flipping through ten-year-old car magazines, the formerly pink-skinned man was now making his way out the door.

“Now, which one of you is up first? The groom?”

Marcus nodded, and I leaped to my feet, ready for my own form of wedding-day pampering. The man ushered me to the barber chair, his eyes darting to my hair. After a cursory check, he must have decided it was decent enough to meet my bride later that evening because he didn’t say anything further as he proceeded with just the shave.

“You ever have any relatives come by my shop?” he asked as he grabbed the hot towels from a nearby bin.

“Uh . . . no, I don’t believe so,” I answered his odd question, arching my brow in confusion.

“It’s just, you look like a guy who used to come by here about fifteen years ago. I never forget a client or a face. It’s why I’ve stayed in business for so long. You don’t see too many barber shops around New York these days. It’s all salons and cookie cutter shops. But not me. I’ve made it because I remember people, and my clients respect me for it. And you look just like this guy . . . Stevens—that was his name. He came in here once a month for about a year and then disappeared. I never saw him again. But if I could place a bet on it, I’d say you were his twin—or son. Spitting image, I tell you. Spitting image.”

“Sorry,” I answered. “The only male relative I had around here fifteen years ago was my father, and his last name wasn’t Stevens.”

He shrugged. “Well, I guess everyone’s got a twin.”

The hot towel went over my head, and he told me to sit back and relax. For once that day, I actually did.

In just a few short hours, I’d be standing at the end of an aisle as I watched Lailah walking toward me, ready to become my wife—forever.

WE ALL STOOD back, looking up at it and just stared.

“It’s so pretty.” Grace sighed, looking over at her sleeping son, who had been delivered to us earlier that afternoon by Brian.

Apparently, my husband-to-be was antsy and needed guy time, and that didn’t include babies.

“It’s not too fluffy?” I asked as my eyes darted back and forth to the gobs of fabric hanging from the dress as I tried to remember how I’d looked in it during my last fitting.

My hands nervously wrapped around the silken waist of my robe. Spending years in nothing more than T-shirts and sweats, it was hard to gaze up at something so stunning and imagine me inside of it.

“Heavens no. When it comes to bridal gowns, there’s no such thing. It’s perfect,” Grace replied.

When a girl had spent the majority of her life believing she’d never get married, let alone see adulthood, stepping into a bridal salon to pick out a wedding dress was an event to remember. Sure, it was a big day for anyone, but for me, it’d signaled a turning point. I was no longer Lailah, the girl everyone pitied. I was Lailah Buchanan, future wife to Jude Cavanaugh. As far as I was concerned, I was the luckiest female on the planet.

Okay, maybe every woman felt that way as she stepped into a bridal salon, but I was sure most of them knew from an early age that they’d eventually meet that wonderful man and find themselves planning the wedding of their dreams.

I’d never had such lofty plans in my life.

I’d only dreamed of surviving.

And now, I had.

When I’d stepped into that beautiful bridal store and looked around at the twinkle and glitz of pearls and diamonds sparkling from every shimmery corner, I’d suddenly become that little girl who had never gotten to plan her dream wedding.