I'm not one to hold a grudge, because the only person that hurts is yourself. Besides, when you're a teenager, you make all kinds of stupid mistakes. I've spoken to my old friend three times since then and am excited to see him when he comes to visit his mom again in a couple of weeks. Now Lana is sour since I'm sure by now she has heard that Carter and I have reconnected.
"Well, if it isn't Cat Callaghan," Lana says, her voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard.
"Lana," I return in a bored tone. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Lana hitches her gaudy thousand-dollar purse up on her shoulder. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. My hair is in desperate need of attention, and it seems this is the only salon within a fifty-mile radius." Lana peers around the shop, wearing a sour look on her face as if she's too good to be in such a place. Summer, who is currently giving Mrs. Margaret her monthly trim, pauses with her shears and gives Lana a once-over.
Not bothering to hide my eye roll, I pull up today's calendar on the computer. "I'm sorry, but we're all booked today. However, I can get you in with Summer next Friday at eleven o'clock."
"Are you serious? Can't you make an exception?"
Apparently, Lana forgot who she was talking to, and the look I'm currently throwing her way tells her so.
She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Fine."
I book Lana's appointment and wait for her to leave, but luck is not on my side. "So, you're a hairstylist now, Cat?" she asks.
"No." That is all I offer.
"What, you just take people's appointments?" Lana snorts. I see nothing has changed. She's still the same snob she was back in high school.
"Yes," I say, not feeling at all embarrassed about my job. "I also run the Inn. Working here is something I do part-time."
"Really? I heard the bank took your grandfather's ranch."
Of course, she would know my business since her father works down at the bank. It takes everything I have not to bitch-slap the smirk off Lana's face, not to mention when you live in a small town, everyone knows your business.
"Lana…" I go to say, but I'm cut off.
"How's that handsome baseball player of yours, Lana?" Mrs. Margaret, who is currently sitting in Summer's chair, asks. Mrs. Margaret is a seventy-something-year-old busybody who happens to be our town's leading source of gossip. Sometimes she gets on my nerves, but today I couldn't love her more.
"Oh," Mrs. Margaret continues. "That's right. He dropped you like a hot potato. I heard he even took back the engagement ring. Word is, you had to move back home with your folks because you don't have a penny to your name." Mrs. Margaret shakes her head and tsks.
This time I don't hold back my snort.
Lana rolls her eyes. "You really shouldn't listen to everything you hear."
Mrs. Margaret smiles. "That's some sound advice, Lana. Maybe you should practice what you preach."
With a huff, Lana turns on her heel and storms out of the salon. I turn toward Mrs. Margaret with a massive grin on my face. She doesn't say anything. Instead, she just winks then turns back to face the mirror.
3
EASTON
I wake to a new sunrise, feeling like roadkill and my head throbbing. A couple of years ago, I could blame my current condition on partying too hard. Nowadays, I simply attribute it to sleeping like shit. That's the thing about insomnia—she's a cold-hearted, blood-sucking bitch.
I throw the covers to the side and rise from the bed. My bare feet slap against the cold floor as I cross the room, then pull open the curtains and let the sunlight wash over my body. Standing naked in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, I soak in the warmth of the sun. A few years ago, I decided to make Seattle my permanent home when we are not touring. A place I can come back to and recharge. There's something about Seattle and its people that relaxes the soul.
I live in a luxury loft with a sweeping view of the Seattle skyline and the bay beyond it. From where I stand, I can see the city rising in glass and steel against the water, as ferries cut across the gray-blue surface. But now, emptiness, mental exhaustion, and a lack of motivation are all I feel when looking out at the city. All I can think about is escaping it all and seeing my family back in Montana.
A meow, followed by fur rubbing against my calf, causes me to look to the floor. "Hey, dude." I talk to my cat Gizmo. "Are you hungry?" He tilts his head back and meows again.
"Do you really think you should be standing in your birthday suit for anyone to gawk at?" Mallory, East of Addiction's publicist, suddenly appears.
"What the fuck, Mallory?" I turn to find her standing in the doorway of my bedroom. "You aren't allowed to enter my home whenever you wish." Stepping away from the window, I snatch a robe lying across the arm of a nearby chair and cover myself.
"Don't go and get all modest on my account. Half of the city probably got a look at your assets by now." I feel her eyes on me as I move. "And you're the one who gave me the code to get in."
