She shakes her head. “Yes. Yes, a thousand times, yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”
Relief fills my entire body. I wrap her up in my arms and lower my lips to hers, kissing her long and hard. When I finally pull away, I close her fist around the sea glass, and say in a whisper, “Promise me you’ll keep this forever. That way, when we’re old and gray, we’ll always remember tonight was the night we decided on forever.”
1
ROSIE
When I went through cosmetology school over a decade ago, I had no idea my breasts would get so much attention. But here they are. On display for my client’s viewing pleasure.
As I crank back the stylist chair and my client rests his head over the sink, I spray the water through his salt-and-pepper hair. This is the point when my clients typically close their eyes and relax. But Blake’s are zoned in on—you guessed it—my rack. Blake is one of Weston’s colleagues, in his late-forties, and apparently “gets laid more than any other guy in the office.” West’s words, not mine.
When I glance over at Hannah, she has her scissors gripped in her hand and she’s giving me the look she always does when a male client checks me out too long. We’ve been working side by side long enough that her look no longer needs an explanation. She used to mouth the words, gesturing with her dark, expressive eyes and entire body like she was a mime. But now, I know what she’s insinuating the second I glance her way.If he looks at your boobs one more time, I’m gonna cut off his balls.
My lips curl up to one side at her loyalty, but I give her a stern shake of my head. West won’t mind him looking—he’d even get off on it if I told him—but if he so much as lays one finger on me, this guy won’t last another day in the office. I clear my throat. His eyes fly up to meet mine. Caught.
“So, Blake?” Hannah calls. “Have you met my client?”
Blake tries tilting his head from where it’s perched over the sink. “No, I can’t say I have,” he mutters, an edge of annoyance in his tone.
Hannah’s client is a kind woman in her forties as well. Pretty and recently divorced. But she’s not his type. It’s all part of Hannah’s plan to distract him from ogling me. Which I can appreciate.
Four years ago, I rented this space next to hers in Blush—the most prestigious salon in downtown Seattle—and we bonded almost instantly. She quickly became one of my favorite friends in the city. Okay, she became my only friend. Before her, there hadn’t been anyone I trusted. Not with my daughter Charlotte and not with my secrets either.
“Well, my girl here is smart, sassy, and a lot of fun,” Hannah yammers on. “You two should go out.”
“Oh, yeah?” Blake looks unconvinced. So much, in fact, that he finally closes his eyes. “Sounds great. I’ll leave my card. Give me a call.”
“Um…yeah, okay,” Hannah’s client says from behind the shield of foils framing her face.
I smirk, rolling my eyes at Hannah, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy standing straighter with her chest thrust out. Hannah: 1. Rich douchebag: 0.
My workdays usually end earlier than Hannah’s because I pick Charlotte up from school. But today I quit even sooner togive myself time to clean up my space in preparation for being gone next week.
“While you’re getting a tan, I want you to think of me stuck here getting poured on,” Hannah whines, flashing me her sad puppy eyes in the reflection of our shared mirror. Commiserating with her, I pout my lips. “Tell Charlie to pick me out a cute Golden Harbor souvenir.”
“I will.” After I wipe down the glass shelves to the side of my station, I return the hair products, organizing them by their proper uses. “But you know I’m not gonna have much time to spend at the beach.”
Hannah’s scissors pause in her manicured hand, and she gives me an irritated look. “Didn’t you tell me your grandma’s house is literally on the beach?”
“I mean…yeah, I guess.” I grab my jacket off the hook on the wall and wrestle it on, and a shock of pain in my shoulder seeps into my arm. “But I’ll be pretty busy with my grandma’s service and packing up all her stuff.”
Hannah sets her scissors down and whispers something to her client. She shuffles over to me and wraps me up in a hug. “Just promise me you’ll go out and have some fun with your old friends. As jealous as I am that I can’t be there, you need some fun in your life.”
I pull back, a little gasp escaping me. “I have fun.”
“Sure, you snagged yourself a hot piece of ass. But I can’t remember the last time you had fun.” She takes me by the shoulders. “Double up on your pain meds and go out to a bar. Drink a beer. Do something wild. Dance. Sing karaoke. Throw an axe.” She shakes my shoulders. “Just do something.”
“Ugh. Fine, I’ll try. But no promises.” I groan. “I’ll text you.”
“You better. Love ya.” She hands me my umbrella, and I give her one last glance before I slip out into the Seattle rain.
“Don’t go,” Weston pleads, tugging the suitcase handle from my grip.
“I have to.” I wrinkle my nose as I sigh, a wave of emotion rising in me unexpectedly. Shielding my eyes, I turn away from him and snatch my purse from the bed.
With a firm grip to my waist, he spins me to face him. But my mind is elsewhere. It’s restless. I’ve got a mental travel checklist scrolling through my brain. West rests an open palm on the side of my neck, pushing gentle pressure against my skin with his thumb and fingertips. It stills me and my eyes slide up to meet his. Blue and clear. Trustworthy.
“Then I’ll come with you.”
