Salon story

Kate shifted in her chair, flipping through the latest issue of Glamour. The articles were the usual mix of skincare tips and celebrity gossip, but they barely held her attention. She’d stopped by the salon on a whim—her roots were overdue for a touch-up, and she figured she’d squeeze in if they had time for a walk-in.

The faint hum of blow dryers and snipping of scissors filled the air, a soothing backdrop to her wait. She glanced around, noticing the usual bustle of stylists tending to their clients. That’s when the bell above the door chimed, and a man walked in.

He looked slightly out of place, dressed sharply in a black button-up and slacks, like he’d just stepped out of a business meeting. Kate watched as he hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning the room, before heading straight for the reception desk.

Odd, she thought. The receptionist barely glanced at him before disappearing into the back, leaving him standing there. Kate expected him to leave, but instead, he grabbed an apron from the hook by the wall, draped it around his neck, and strode toward one of the chairs like he belonged there. Her curiosity piqued.

When the man approached her, Kate instinctively sat up straighter. But no, he wasn’t coming for her. Instead, he stopped in front of the woman sitting a few chairs over. It took a second for Kate to recognize her—Kira Kosarin, the actress from The Thundermans. Kate wasn’t one to get starstruck, but she had to admit, Kira looked even more stunning in person.

“Hi, I’m Robert. I’ll be taking care of you today,” the man said with an easy confidence.

Kate raised an eyebrow. Robert? She’d been to this salon a handful of times and didn’t recall ever seeing him before. Still, Kira didn’t question it, following him to the washing station with a smile.

Kate returned to her magazine but couldn’t help sneaking glances. The way he worked with Kira’s hair was… meticulous. His fingers lingered just a little too long as he shampooed, his touch more intimate than professional. Kate frowned, feeling a twinge of unease. Something about it didn’t seem quite right.

The man—Robert, apparently—took his time, running his fingers through Kira’s hair as he conditioned it, brushing each section with a precision that bordered on obsession. Kira didn’t seem to notice, chatting with him casually as if he were just another stylist. Kate, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

After finishing the wash, Robert led Kira back to her chair and began blow-drying her hair. His movements were smooth, practiced, almost hypnotic. By the time he was done, Kira’s hair looked flawless—silky waves cascading down her back like a shampoo commercial.

“All done,” he said, stepping back.

“Wow, this is amazing, Robert. Thank you so much!” Kira exclaimed, admiring herself in the mirror.

But then, without another word, Robert turned and walked straight out the front door. No goodbyes, no check-in with the receptionist, nothing. He just… left.

Kate stared after him, her magazine forgotten in her lap. “What the…?”

A few moments later, Marcia, the salon owner, emerged from the back. “Kira, I’m so sorry for the wait. Let me—” She froze, her eyes locking onto Kira’s perfectly styled hair. “Wait… who did your hair?”

Kira looked confused. “Robert. He said he worked here.”

Marcia’s face went pale. “We don’t have anyone named Robert on staff.”

Kate watched the scene unfold with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think that guy worked here,” she chimed in. “He just… walked in, grabbed an apron, and started doing her hair.”

Marcia’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Kate nodded, biting back a laugh. “Dead serious. He walked out like it was no big deal.”

Kira blinked, looking from Kate to Marcia, then back to her reflection. “Well… he did a great job, at least.”

The absurdity of the situation hit Kate all at once, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Only in L.A., right?”

Marcia groaned, rubbing her temples. “I’m going to have to check the security footage. This is insane.”

Kate returned to her magazine, shaking her head. She’d just wanted a quick root touch-up, but now she had a front-row seat to one of the strangest salon stories she’d ever witness.

Well, she thought, at least I’ll have something interesting to tell the girls at brunch.