Hair Dilema

I got a trim the other night. My regular stylist wasn't in, and I really needed a trim, so I agreed to have one of the other girls do it instead.
I was filled with trepidation when I got there and met 'Candace,' who looked all of eighteen, and had reddish hair on the bottom third of her head, while the top was very blonde, as though a bottle of peroxide had been poured over her head during a hair colour-paint fight at beauty school.
Surprise! I loved what she did with my hair.
I would like her to do my hair again.
Problem: my regular stylist. She's a fiesty Newfoundlander with a thick accent, who, though just an itty bitty little thing, looks like she could kick anybody's ass. She got a little pissy with me once when she just thought I'd gotten it cut somewhere else.
How do I leave my hairstylist for another one?
"It's not you. It's me. No! Of course, there's no one else! I've just decided to grow my hair out. To my feet, like Crystal Gayle. Fine! Her name is Candace, and she makes me feel...sleek and shiny and bouncy, and never too poufy like you do! Look, I'm sorry. Let's just be friends."