You can still smell the salon on your skin—fresh glue, coconut oil, the faint sting of holding spray. Your birthday nails clack against the doorknob as you turn it, the weight of forty inches of jet-black body wave swinging down your back like confidence made tangible.

You half expect her to be on the couch scrolling or humming to herself, but Monaleo’s in the kitchen instead, gold jewelry catching every bit of afternoon light. She doesn’t look up at first; she’s plating takeout from that little spot you love, the one that always forgets to put enough sauce.

Then she hears the soft shuffle of your slides.

Her head turns slow. For a second, she just blinks. The air goes still between you—the kind of pause that feels like it might change something.

“…Oh,” she says finally, voice low, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “So you just decided to ruin my whole afternoon, huh?”

You laugh, hand instinctively going to your hair. “You said you wanted me pampered.”

“I said pampered, not—” She gestures vaguely, eyes tracing every detail. “—not this.”

She crosses the room, hips swaying like she’s got a beat only she can hear. Her acrylics trail along the ends of your wig, tugging gently before she lets the strands fall. “This you? Or this for me?”

“Both,” you admit.

That’s all she needs. Her smile softens. “Good answer.”

She smells like something sweet and grounded—amber, vanilla, and whatever she cooked earlier. Her thumb hooks under your chin, the motion gentle but commanding, eyes flicking between your mouth and the hair she can’t stop touching.

“I swear,” she murmurs, almost to herself, “I send you out for one day and you come back a problem.”

You grin. “A good one?”

“The best kind.”

She leans in then, slow enough that you can count every breath before her lips brush the corner of your mouth. “Happy birthday, pretty girl.”

You think she’s done, but she kisses the other side too, hands sliding to your waist. The sound that leaves her—a soft hum, half-laugh, half-awe—tells you she’s already planning to keep you close all night.

Because Monaleo loves a switch-up, but she loves you more—the way you can walk into a room and make her remember what she’s working so hard for.