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“All right,” he said cautiously.
I smiled to show him all was well.
“But, Ani, I’m not worried about you spying on me. Not really.”
“I wasn’t spying on you. I don’t spy on you.” I raised my voice ever so slightly. “That’s part of the point I was making.”
“What was the other part?”
“That involved me giving you a piece of personal information. Thereby making it your turn again so that you can tell me something if or when you feel like it.”
He blinked. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I moved around to the other side of the counter as Josh wandered in from the gas station. He yawned so hard his jaw cracked, and my brows rose in surprise. “One shot or two, my friend?”
Josh held up three fingers.
“Ouch.”
“We minded the baby for Emma last night,” he explained. “I’d forgotten how loud they can be. Babies might look all little and cute, but I’m telling you, they are pure evil when they won’t sleep.”
I made him his coffee and handed it over. “I believe you.”
Josh sipped his beverage, fluffed up the back of his mullet, and left the building without further ado.
As I charged the coffee to Josh’s account, Garrett stared after the man with interest.
“What?” I asked.
“He honestly doesn’t give a shit that I’m here.”
“Country music fan,” I said. “A very tired one, apparently. But if you were Dolly Parton or Willie Nelson, rest assured, he would lose his ever-loving mind. Is indifference really so rare?”
“I don’t know. Guess it’s just been a while since I haven’t had to try and hide who I am. I had a beard in France and New Zealand. That helped. But now . . .”
“You’re out in the open. How does it feel?”
He paused. “Good.”
“I’m glad. It’s not always easy coming out of hiding.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Which was when Magda, the local hairstylist, entered the store and stopped stone-cold dead with her mouth hanging open and her cell clutched to her chest. She was an older white woman with a cool gray pixie cut. “Garrett. Oh my. It really is you.”
He nodded. “Ma’am.”
“I want you to know,” she whisper-hissed as she got good and close, “your secret is safe with us and you are very welcome in our town.”
“Thank you.”
“And I am so sorry for your loss. My partner Teddy passed a little while back and . . . it’s not easy. There are still days now and then when it all seems like a bad dream.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“You take care of yourself, honey.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Excuse me.” A deep line had appeared between his brows. Then he gave us both another nod and was gone.
“Not much of a talker, is he?” said Magda, inspecting the pastry cabinet.
“He can be shy. I thought he did quite well.”
“Maybe he’ll have more words for me next time.” She flashed me a smile. “I’ll have one of Claude’s almond croissants.”
“You got it. By the way,” I said, grabbing a brown paper bag, “you know how you’ve been carefully hinting for a while now that you’d like to do my hair?”
“I believe what I’ve been openly saying for the past few years is that it’s time for you to stop cutting your own hair in the kitchen like a toddler and let me style that straggly mess for you.”
“That’s a little harsh, but I’ll allow it.”
“Holy shit,” she gasped. “Has my lucky day finally come? Are you at long last ready to bid adieu to those damn split ends?”
I smiled. “You know what, Magda? I think I am.”
Change can be scary. There’s comfort in the known. It requires nothing new of you. And who’s to say how others will react? In a small town where everyone knows everything, change is especially terrifying. Because, like it or not, people are going to tell you their opinions and then some.
“Did I really look that bad before?” I took a sip of my prickly pear margarita. “I mean, really?”
“Of course not,” said Cézanne. “Ignore them.”
From the time I stepped foot in the bar to when my ass met the black vinyl seat in our usual booth in the corner, I received no less than eleven comments and three gasps of surprise. Talk about excessive. Maybe I should have been wearing a paper bag over my head for the last four years. Their reactions seemed to suggest as much.
A humorous golden banner proclaiming good riddance hung above the jukebox, and Maria and Danielle were holding court by the bar. Everyone wanted to buy them a drink. And everyone had words of advice for them regarding dealing with the outside world. How best to hold onto your soul in the big city. They would be sorely missed in Wildwood.
“Are you free tomorrow?” asked Cézanne. “We got a late booking of a busload of tourists wanting to do a tasting and I’m low on staff with that flu going around.”
