Page 1 of Run to Me

1

MAISY

I bless the Welcome to Walford sign with a manicured middle finger because fuck this place.

“That’s not very nice.” The soft voice scolding me from the passenger seat belongs to Pam Wakefield, the kindest woman on the planet and my best friend’s aunt.

“Sorry,” I say with an unapologetic shrug. “It’s tradition.”

The corners of her mouth twitch as she gazes out the window of my rental car. “This town loves its traditions.”

Tucked away in the Texas Hill Country, Walford is the kind of town that brainwashes people into believing a utopia exists. Three thousand people have fallen for its charming facade with the seasonal decorations and the festivals and the friendly, supportive neighbors. If you ask me, it’s all a lie.

I flick my turn signal and make a left into the modest neighborhood behind Main Street. “Are you glad to be home?” I ask.

Pam isn’t a fan of traveling and prefers to spend her days in Walford, where she’s lived since birth. I can’t share the sentiment. If my mother lived anywhere else, I’d visit her more than once a year.

“I am, but I’m guessing you’re not,” Pam says.

“This isn’t my home anymore.”

After high school, I stuck around Texas long enough to earn my cosmetology license, then hopped on a plane and joined my best friend, Tatum Wakefield, in California. A year later, she became an overnight pop superstar and hired me as her makeup artist, hair stylist, and personal assistant.

The years we spent touring the world together were wild, to say the least. So wild, her career imploded. Now Tatum’s returning to Walford while she picks up the pieces. A return I wanted to protest. Loudly. Because I’m still her assistant, I’ve come here to prepare things for her arrival. There’s not much to do, if I’m honest, but I’m serious about my job and take pride in my work. With any luck, I’ll be out of Walford by lunch tomorrow.

Pam’s serene expression never falters when I stop the car in front of her house. Her brown bob grazes her chin when she tilts her head, studying me with tired blue eyes. I’m sure my eyes are also heavy with exhaustion. We’ve been in three different time zones in the past four days. Discreetly exfiltrating a world-famous pop star from rehab and moving her from one coast to the other is no simple task.

“How are you feeling about all this?” she asks.

By this she means the drastic upheaval of life as I know it. With Tatum’s career in tatters, my schedule cracked wide open. Luckily, my other friend, Graham Kingston, secured the funding to make his first movie and offered me a job. He’s one of Hollywood’s biggest actors, but his dream is to direct films. Because of his tight budget, he needs someone who can manage both wardrobe and makeup. I jumped at the chance to help one of my closest friends and keep busy while Tatum’s on hiatus.

Answering Pam’s question, I say, “I’m nervous, but I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’m branching out on my own.”

Her brows cinch together. “What do you mean?”

“My friends keep giving me jobs. I know they aren’t hiring me out of pity or anything, but I haven’t earned the opportunities, you know?”

In the beauty and entertainment industries, jobs are often won through a combination of connections and reputation. I’ve worked hard on the latter, behaving professionally and showcasing my skills, but I struggle with the former. I’m grateful to have made connections through Tatum and Graham, but I yearn to make a name for myself, independent of my association with them. Right now, I’m a nobody.

Pam isn’t someone who expresses her opinions freely, so I sit up straight and pay attention when she lets out a disappointed sigh. “Maisy Donovan, don’t believe for one second you haven’t earned your way. Your friends celebrate your talent by supporting you. Wouldn’t you do the same for them?”

“Of course I would. But how can I find out if I’m talented if I’m never tested by people who don’t know me? I want to leave my mark, Pam, and do it on my merit.”

She gives my hand a heartfelt squeeze. “Your time will come. Until then, walk through every door, no matter who opens it. You’ll know when you’ve found your place because you’ll fight tooth and nail to hold on to it. But”—she holds up a finger when I open my mouth to speak—“you have to open up to people. Show them the wonderful person you are on the inside. I promise you, it’s not as scary as you think.”

I purse my lips and slide my gaze to the dormant rose bushes near her kitchen window. Roses are my kindred spirits, all thorny and wild. Beautiful to admire, but dangerous to touch. If people look too closely, they may not like what hides beneath the pretty petals and foliage, which is why I have trouble letting people in. There’s something prickly about me that turns people off once they uncover it, though I’ve never been able to pinpoint what it is.

Pam disrupts my thoughts by asking, “Are you staying with me tonight?”

My heavy sigh drowns out the radio playing in the background. “No. I’ll stay at Vera’s. Tick off the box for my annual visit.”

“You make it sound like a doctor’s exam.”

I arch a sculpted eyebrow. “She’d have to show interest in me to examine me.”

“Try being nice to her, okay? Not for her sake, but for yours.”

To keep from badmouthing my mother, I hold my tongue and pop the trunk so Pam can grab her bag.