“A salon. Since Hairdo or Dye went under. We need a salon.”
“Great, fine. A salon. I’ll lease this space and get a salon in here.”
“And you’ll hire J.J.”
“What?”
“I said, you’ll hire J.J. to consult. If there’s one thing she knows, it’s the hairdo needs of Irish Hills. I want her on your team.”
“Sure, whatever. I really do want to help. I want to make sure the town thrives; I promise you that.”
“Yeah, sure, but this the only way I can be certain you’re not trying to sabotage our progress. She won’t let you.”This idea is brilliant. This is it!
“You’re paranoid.”
“If I was paranoid, I would have looked into Granite a heck of a lot more than I did.”
“Fine, it’s a deal. I’ll sign the lease of this building and get Irish Hills a beauty salon.” Stone Stirling was shaking his head as though the idea was absurd.
“And J.J. will be your consultant, so it’s not crap.”
“As you wish.”
Aha! I’ve got him again!
They shook hands, and Libby realized, as she looked into the confident eyes of Stone Stirling, that actuallyshehad acquiesced to everythinghe’dasked for. She’d won nothing.
And Libby now had to convince J.J. to keep an eye on the snake she had accidentally let in. That might not be easy.
But J.J. was tougher than any billionaire and just as stubborn.
ChapterTen
J.J.
What would be the hardest thing to pack up? What would be the most gut-wrenching? J.J. decided to tackle the worst first.
She’d already moved on in her life in terms of little kid stuff. Dean and she had already empty nested. Over the last few years, they had begun to fix up the house for adults, not toddlers or teens. They envisioned transitioning this family home into the perfect place for two.
She had a box of baby things and mementos already in storage. She’d done that when she eyed their rooms and cleaned the basement. There were a few things that the boys could have if they ever settled down and had kids. She had scrapbooks, but she had Swedish Death Cleaned the rest.
She’d ruthlessly garage saled or donated a toy chest full of swords, light sabers, and ball bats. The truth was that D.J. and Austin were hard on physical objects. Most of the stuff she cleaned out after they left home was already busted. Having a tidy place for the first time in her life did not fill her with sadness. She didn’t need to hang on to old purses or shoes. The idea that her own sons would have to paw through dozens of pieces of flotsam after she shook off her mortal coil gave her anxiety.
A few boxes of things that were sweet or precious were all she kept. No more than half a dozen. This gift of decluttering was one she’d give to her sons when they were grieving again. Someday, they would appreciate this economy instead of cursing the chore of having to clean up after her life.
Or not. Who knew what sons really understood about their mothers anyway?
So, the worst first thing? It was Dean’s clothes. She’d never opened the closet after he died. Didn’t look at it. Touch it. Smell it. Nothing. But now, she had to. She walked through the small hallway into their room and stared at the closed closet door. She stopped thinking about what she’d find and just decided to dive in. She’d let it smack her in the face. It would sting. But it had to be done.
J.J. pushed open the closet she’d allowed him to have. It was a sliver, he’d joked, compared to what she had.
“I’m a bear of a human, and I have six square inches of closet space. You’re the size of a Keebler Elf, and you’ve got our bedroom, and now you need the spare room closet, too?”
“Correct.”
Dean complained, but then he installed a cedar closet liner for her.
J.J. looked at the neatly stacked jeans. She ran her hand over the dozen flannels hung by her over a year ago now. She’d already given all of Dean’s heavy coats and workwear to the boys. They could pack them, unpack them, donate them, or do whatever they needed to do. This was different. These were the day-to-day things of his life.
