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It wasn’t until he heard the lock of the door click into place that he turned and stepped off the porch. He had more explanations and more apologies awaiting him, but as he walked back to his car, he felt lighter than he had in ten years.
STEPH GREETED HER NEXT CLIENT, Gayle—a spunky seventy-year-old who usually spent the duration of her hair appointments talking about her dog, Oliver. Yep, today was no different. But Steph was grateful for the one-sided conversation because she couldn’t quite focus on the reality of the day. She felt like she was still someplace between sleeping and waking up. Saturday night was a dreamlike memory—had it really happened?
The reunion had happened, sure, but the rest of it?
Cal Conner had talked to her, apologized to her, driven her home, traded phone numbers … hugged her. Then disappeared again. He’d said he was leaving the following morning after staying at his aunt’s.
Steph hadn’t really expected to hear from him on Sunday, if he was traveling. But now it was Monday. Surely he was home—wherever that was. She’d been tempted to call or text him, but so far she’d refrained. Hehadpromised …
“I can’t ever say the word ‘walk’ in Oliver’s presence, or he’ll go crazy with excitement,” Gayle said, her brown eyes warm and bright in the reflection of the mirror as chatter buzzed around them from the other stylists and clients. “He thinks I’m going to take him out—rain or in the dark. Such a silly dog.”
Steph smiled as she trimmed Gayle’s hair.
“I’m getting him a new leash for his birthday,” she continued without missing a beat. “Did I tell you it’s tomorrow? He’ll be seven years old. Imagine!”
Steph nodded, trying to listen, but mostly failing. Where was Cal now? Where did he live? What was his job? Did he have a girlfriend? He’d been quick to say he didn’t. But he was probably dating. Cal had aged in the best way possible, and his lean teenaged body had filled out into a well-built, physically fit man. He’d always been handsome in his broody way. Some of that had lifted with his cleaned-up professional appearance. Surely plenty of women hit on him. Surely he had his pick.
Her phone buzzed with a text. She kept it on the counter next to the blow-dryer in case Pops needed anything. And in case …Caltexted.
She glanced over at the illuminated screen, but the text was from the group chat. Something about Julie’s pre-contractions, called Braxton Hicks. They’d been going on for weeks. Not that Steph knew a lot about pregnancies, but Julie kept them all updated. It was amusing, but only frustration pulsed through Steph right now. She hated waiting on a man. Mostly because she was always disappointed—not at the beginning … but in the end. Which was why she was still single.
After Gayle was finished, had paid, and thanked her, Steph took her lunch break. She only had about twenty minutes until the next client, but she decided she was done keeping vigil for Cal’s text. So she texted him.
Hi, Cal. Just checking in to see how things went with your aunt. It was nice to see you the other night, and I hope you have safe travels. Wherever they are.
Friendly, maybe a little chatty, and not too direct. She’d be more direct if they had a phone conversation, but she didn’t want to lay everything out in a text.
She hit Send, then unwrapped the turkey sandwich she’d made that morning. It was a decent enough sandwich, but nothing like when one of the stylists made a lunch run to the café. Steph couldn’t afford café runs every day, though, so mostly she brought something from home since she made lunch anyway for Pops and put it in the fridge.
Although, twice last week, she’d come home from a long day of work to find out that he hadn’t touched the sandwich. Said he forgot to eat. She’d be bringing it up at his next checkup.
Her phone buzzed, and she reached for it. She opened the screen and saw another text from her friend group. Still chatting about Julie’s pregnancy. Fine with Steph. Their group texting the day before had been all about the reunion. No one had mentioned Cal Conner. Apparently, Brandy and Julie hadn’t recognized him either. Everly hadn’t known him because she’d graduated a couple of years earlier than the rest of them. And for some reason, Steph hadn’t confessed. It seemed lately she’d been keeping guy issues more to herself. Maybe because she felt like her life was moving backward, while everyone else’s was moving forward.
“Just call him,” she said aloud to the rows of hair-color products on the shelf in front of her. “If he answers, then fine, if not, then maybe he’ll text back … or maybe he’ll ghost you. But then you’ll know.”
Okay, now she was talking to herself. She took another bite of her turkey sandwich, then swallowed down some water. She tapped Cal’s contact and let the phone ring—each ring like a branding iron poking her skin.
It cut off abruptly, and Steph pulled the phone away and stared at it. He’d sent one of those auto-texts:Sorry, I can’t talk right now.
She stared at the text for a long moment. Either he really couldn’t talk, or he didn’t want to talk, and she’d crossed some invisible line of bringing their past relationship into the immediate future. It was one thing for him to apologize at the reunion—but another to continue communicating after he’d rectified their past and moved on.
Had he moved on?
Clearly, he had.
Should she reply to his text? No …
One text was enough. And now she wasn’t hungry anymore, so she packed up her sandwich. It wouldn’t last until the end of her shift, but maybe a little later, she’d finish it off. Once the tangled butterflies in her stomach sorted themselves out.
Another text made her flinch. “Stop doing that,” she whispered to herself.
This one was from Lydia Kane:I have another date with Greg. Thought I’d tell you since you’re my only confidante. Maybe if this one goes well, I’ll tell the girls.
Well, that was both good and bad. Good because Lydia really should keep her daughters in the loop, and bad because Steph would again have to break confidence and report to Brandy. Which might prompt another reconnaissance mission. At least it would get her mind off Cal Conner.
Great, what are the plans?she texted.
The dots on the message app danced as Lydia typed out her reply, only to be interrupted by someone calling.
