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“Yes. I think I’ve just lost trust in myself.”
“Oh, sweetie, that breaks my heart. But you want to know what makes it whole again?”
“What?” Phone at her ear, she walked into the half bathroom and stood in front of the oval mirror. The woman staring back at her was barely recognizable. Twenty-five pounds heavier—all in a healthy way, she looked like a woman instead of a skeleton. After trading in her platinum blond hair extensions for her actual brunette color, she chopped the locks into a sleek, angled bob as well. With glasses over her chocolatey eyes instead of the shocking blue contacts, which everyone thought was an enviable gift from nature, she didn’t even resemble Scarlett any longer.
“What makes me happy is knowing how much you are going to fall in love with Michaela once you remember all there is to love about her. Because she is in you, and she is just about the best thing since Twizzlers. You need to breathe, stop overthinking, and act in a way that comes naturally. Don’t second guess yourself. All these life improvements don’t mean you can’t get mad, can’t be sassy, or funny. None of those are bad things. Stop doubting Michaela and just let her out.”
“When did you get so wise, Ralph?”
“Girl, you don’t get to be this fabulous without reading a few self-help books along the way. Feel better?”
With a laugh, she left the bathroom. She’d certainly read her fair share over the past six months. “Yes, actually, I do. Thank you. Seriously.”
“Anytime, my love. And, I’m guessing I’m going to have to be the one to come to you, huh?”
Michaela blew out a breath. “Yes. I’m not going back to LA for a very long time.” If ever. Her lips twitched. “Besides, a trip to the country now and then will be good for your soul. Your lungs, too. It’ll keep you grounded and remembering your roots.”
His pained whimper had her chuckling. He’d grown up in a town similar to hers. So small it didn’t register as a blip on a map. His had been a coal-mining town in Ohio that wasn’t exactly LGBTQ+ friendly, whereas she’d been from a floundering farming community, but the end result had been the same. Two dirt-poor teens with stars in their eyes and dreams of fame and fortune. They’d been beyond naïve, a true stereotype of small-town kids in the big city. Together, they’d climbed the ranks of Hollywood, yet only one of them managed to keep their grip on reality.
Hint: it hadn’t been her.
Heavy thoughts.
A knock on the door had her shaking off the gloom. Had the movers left something behind? “Ralph, someone’s at my door. I gotta go.”
“Oooh.” He clapped his hands. “Maybe it’s the mechanic come to ravage you.”
She snorted. “You watch too much porn. I’m hanging up. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie. Kisses! And there’s no such thing as too much porn.” he shouted before she disconnected.
The doorbell rang this time. “Coming!” she called out as she hustled to the door.
An odd thrill ran through her. Opening the door to a surprise visitor hadn’t been a thing in her life for nearly ten years. In LA, she’d had a gate, security guards, personal assistant, and checkpoint guests had to navigate through before making it to the door. The staff always informed her of who stood outside before they’d rung the bell. Popping over for a surprise visit wasn’t a thing. Too risky with the hordes of paparazzi that seemed to live on the street outside her ten-bedroom home.
A twinge of unease twisted her stomach. What if they’d found her? What if she opened that door only to have a camera flash blind her?
No. Chill out, Mickie.
She’d taken hundreds of precautions, leaked fake stories of where she might have landed, and with the changes to her appearance, she wouldn’t be recognized by Ralph, let alone a reporter.
You’re fine. A normal person. Peek out the window and see who it is.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the curtain on the window next to the door. With a deep breath, she pulled the fabric over an inch. If the twenty-something woman standing on the other side noticed her, she had the decency to pretend otherwise.
There didn’t seem to be a camera, wasn’t a news van in sight, and she wasn’t holding a phone. Crossing her fingers, Mickie released the curtain then opened the door.
Standing there in distressed jeans and a faded Pearl Jam T-shirt, the long-haired woman offered a genuine smile. “Hi!”
“Hi,” Michaela said. Hopefully she sounded friendly and welcoming, and not like a rich prude. “Can I help you?”
She had long, dark, pin-straight hair, striking green eyes, and a flawless complexion without a stitch of noticeable makeup. The kind of skin women like Michaela and all in LA paid big bucks to achieve.
