The clippers hummed steadily in Phil Allen’s hands as he finished the last few snips on his client’s hair. The familiar buzz filled the small salon, mingling with the soft rock music drifting from the speakers. Phil’s brow was slightly furrowed, a hint of concentration still lingering even as he straightened his scissors for the final cut.

“Alright, all done,” he said, stepping back to inspect his work. The man in the chair, a regular who loved his perfectly sculpted hair, gave an approving nod. “Looks great, Phil. You really are the best.”

Phil allowed himself a small smile, the first of the day that wasn’t forced. “Thanks. See you next week,” he replied, patting the client’s shoulder before waving him off.

As the door closed behind the man, leaving the salon quiet, Phil leaned against the counter and wiped his hands on a towel. The calm felt good, familiar, but there was always that slight ache lingering in the background—a reminder of everything that had gone wrong in his personal life. He hadn’t really dated since the divorce. The thought wasn’t new, but the sting still hit sharper some days than others.

“You’re still here, Dad?”

Phil looked up to see Brian leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. His 18-year-old son had that half-amused, half-annoyed expression that Phil recognized immediately.

“I’m finishing up,” Phil said casually, setting down the towel. “Wasn’t that obvious?”

Brian smirked. “Yeah, yeah. I mean… you could take a break sometime. Go outside. Breathe. Maybe talk to someone who isn’t a client for once.”

Phil chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Talk to someone, huh? That’s rich coming from you.”

Brian grinned, stepping fully into the salon. “I mean it, Dad. You spend all your time here, clipping hair and being grumpy. When was the last time you actually… y’know… went out with someone? Found a girlfriend?”

Phil froze mid-motion, straightening a chair he’d been adjusting. He gave his son a sideways glance, a little incredulous. “A girlfriend? Brian, it’s not exactly… simple.”

Brian leaned on the counter, leaning close enough that Phil could smell the faint scent of his cologne. “You mean it’s not simple because of mom and Sandra?” he asked gently. “Because you’re still… hurt? I get it, Dad. I really do. But you’re not getting any younger. You can’t keep hiding in here forever.”

Phil exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. “I’m not hiding,” he said softly. “I’m… careful. I’ve been burned before.”

Brian smiled knowingly, nudging his father lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah, I know. But maybe it’s time to stop letting it keep you from… you know… living.”

Phil let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at his son’s earnestness. “You always did have a way of telling me what I didn’t want to hear.”

“Someone’s gotta,” Brian said, grinning. “I mean, seriously. You deserve someone. You’re loyal, you’re talented, and you’ve got this… whole sensitive side that nobody even sees sometimes. But me? I see it. And you can’t just keep it all to yourself.”

Phil studied Brian for a long moment, the intensity of his son’s gaze piercing through the usual wall of sarcasm and grumpiness he kept up for the world. He felt a pang of pride—and maybe a little guilt too—for letting the divorce and his own stubbornness create a wall he hadn’t yet broken down.

“You’re right,” he admitted finally, voice low, almost reluctant. “Maybe… maybe it is time to… I don’t know… try.”

Phil let out a soft laugh, the sound carrying a lightness it hadn’t in years “Alright, alright,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”

Brian clapped him on the shoulder before heading toward the door. “Good. And Dad? Don’t overthink it. Life’s too short for that.”

Maybe it was time to let someone in. Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt a small, cautious spark of hope.