she called without looking up.The door creaked open. “You might try soap,” Traci Miles offered.Lacey lifted her head to squint at her attractive friend. Traci worked in the hair salon and had been in the original group of women who came to Sweetness to help settle the town—the woman was a font of common sense. “Soap?”Traci walked inside and gestured. “My mother used to put a bar of soap within reach of her sewing machine to wax the end of the thread so it would go through the eye of the needle.”“I thought you were supposed to lick the end.”“Nope. That makes the thread expand.”Lacey pursed her mouth. “Good to know.”“When are you going to let me straighten your hair?”Lacey fingered a corkscrew. “It’s hopeless, I tell you. Did you come up just to condemn my curls?”“No.” Traci leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a really great-looking man downstairs in the front room asking for you.”Lacey frowned. “Who is it?”“Mike something. I was too distracted by his gigantic biceps to catch his last name.”Her pulse blipped.
