Avery hops up, pressing a kiss to the top of my freshly styled head. "You lookbeautiful, Zo. Enjoy every second of this, okay? You deserve it."
"And don't think that we're done with this conversation! We wantallthe gossip!" Quinn sings out, looping her arm through Gabe's.
They sweep out in a whirlwind of laughter, collecting their hockey-player escorts from the entrance.
The salon door clicks shut, and Debbie resumes my nails in silence. I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My hair does look incredible. And my skin looks rejuvenated from whatever miracle mask Debbie applied earlier. Even myeyes look brighter, alive in a way I haven't seen in the mirror for… I can't even remember.
When was the last time I felt pretty?
"All done, gorgeous." Debbie blows gently across my nails, then sets my hands down. "Barely There Blush applied perfectly."
I look down at my fingers. They'reliterallyshimmering.
"Debbie, this has been…" I shake my head, blinking hard. "Thank you. Really."
She waves me off as she tidies her station.
"Just make sure you thank that boy properly," she says. "Your friends are right, you know. He's spared no expense for his girl today."
"His girl?" My voice comes out a squeak.
Debbie winks, leaning in. "Honey, when a man orchestrates a whole evening like this, there’s usually a thank-you expected. A... shall we say…hands-onthank-you."
"Debbie!" My cheeks burn.
She just laughs. "Go on, then. See if he’s been a good boy and finished his chores."
His girl?
The words land somewhere low in my belly, warm and dangerous. I throw back the last drop of champagne and nearly choke on it.
But as I stand to leave, my traitorous brain is already conjuring images of Colt's hands on my waist, the delicious heat of him pressed against my back.
I remember the way he leaned in right before Debbie interrupted us on the sidewalk. I could feel his breath on my lips and all I wanted to do was taste him.
Could that really happen? Could I really kiss Colt Lane?
Debbie holds my gaze like she knows what she's done, then smiles and waves her leopard-print nails toward the door. "Goon, honey. Get home to your daughter. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon, dear."
I head outside, and start walking back to Butter Batch feeling like a new woman. The cold air bites at my freshly moisturized face, and my hair bounces against my shoulders as I hurry down the cobblestone sidewalk.
Frost Café is closed, and down the street I can see The Leopard Lounge glowing purple and alive with evening action. All around the town, the mountains rise dark against the stars, and despite Debbie's intentions, suddenly all I can think about is Morgan's bedtime.
And whether Colt remembered the vanilla extract at the supply store.
And isn't that the story of my life? I take a few hours for myself, then feel so guilty that I instantly force myself to pivot straight back into Mom-Mode.
I eventually come to a stop, and through the front window of my bakery, I can see Colt and Morgan sitting at the window table.
Morgan is perched on her knees, leaning across the table with playing cards fanned in both hands. Her braids are lopsided, which means she probably pulled out the elastics herself, and there's what looks like pizza sauce on her chin.
Colt sits across from her, his big frame folded onto one of my vintage chairs that looks comically small beneath him. His sleeves are pushed up again—God, always with the sleeves—and I can see the flex of his forearms as he shuffles the deck.
Between them sits an empty pizza box and two empty glasses.
They're laughing.
