by Bethany-Kris
And not the one that opened its doors to all.
From afar, it might be hard to tell the two eighteen-year-olds apart. They were about the same height with a similar shade of dirty blonde hair that wasn’t quite as light as Gracen’s own wheat-gold locks. Longer than even Gracen’s hair when she let it out, the younger ladies hid their feet and feet of hair with flawless chignons. In modestly cut black, long-sleeved dresses that didn’t show off their figure and swept their ankles, the only thing different between the two were the red and blue shawl each wore tossed around their shoulders.
As the rumors went, after marriage, they could dress in something other than black, but until then, the only color women and girls were allowed came in their accessories. Something else Gracen had been told the church was known to control. Respectful—but not loud—bags, scarves, and shawls were permitted. No jewelry, of course. Not even wedding bands were permitted. Modesty was key, which would be fine, if it didn’t seem like the entire congregation looked exactly alike when lined up in rows.
At some point, it got creepy.
If not a little concerning.
Not that Gracen was ever rude enough to say it out loud. She kept those thoughts—as judgemental as they sometimes felt, even if she had a good reason to be more than a little wary about the tabernacle on the hill—to herself. Not everything needed to be said when certain things spoke for themselves.
Delaney sat in her swivel studio chair holding what looked like printer paper—although Gracen couldn’t see what had been printed on them—while the other two young ladies nodded between one another. About something Gracen couldn’t hear, but she tried to keep that from bothering her too much. They didn’t notice her approaching the station directly across from Delaney’s, but her friend did.
Margot lingered in the entry to the second-floor stairwell but said nothing as she observed the newcomers, and Gracen’s suddenly quiet demeanor.
Delaney, who had taken note of Gracen when she swept up the remaining items on her station to put them in their respective homes, told her guests, “Sure, we can do these—here, you keep them until we need them, all right? I’ll only need a quick glance to know who is doing what.”
“Sure, we’ve got a whole binder for everything to keep all the details straight,” said one of the girls.
Delaney’s cousin.
The other one, Alora, added in a chirpy voice, “I really appreciate you doing this for me. It’s one less thing to figure out.”
“No big deal. It’s just a favor for Bex. I’m sure you could have found—”
“Someone else to do twelve girls’ hair for practically nothing? Not likely.”
The natural bristle comb Gracen had been cleaning fell from her hand and landed to the shiny metal top of her workstation with a loud clang. She didn’t want to make it seem like the noise was purposeful, so Gracen acted like nothing happened and finished tidying her station as Delaney said goodbye to her guests. It was only once the bell overtop of the entrance door chimed that Gracen broke the silence in the salon first.
“I thought you were just helping with some things?” she asked quietly.
From the side of her gaze, she could see Margot still in the same spot. Silent, and watching.
“I was going to get around to telling you—” Delaney tried to say.
Gracen didn’t even want to hear it. Swinging around, she grabbed her bag that hung from a hook on her workstation and headed for the front door without explaining where she was going or why the sudden change in her mood.
It wasn’t needed.
Delaney knew.
“If you’re really over Sonny, it shouldn’t matter if I help my cousin with his wedding or not!” Delaney shouted at Gracen’s retreating back.
She’d almost reached the door.
God dammit.
She wished she had.
Gracen could have said a lot of things to deny Delaney’s accusation—she wanted to say it all, too. Instead, she continued rushing out the door without looking back because every word she felt like saying stuck on her tongue.
A lie she wasn’t ready to speak.
Even if it wasn’t one.
What did it matter?
Sonny wasn’t what chased Gracen out of her own salon.
Chapter 3
Not even the iced coffee Gracen sipped—her most favorite source of caffeine regardless of the weather—was enough to quell the bitterness of anger leaving a bad taste in the back of her mouth. Instead of trying to work through what pissed her off the most, Delaney’s lies or Sonny’s upcoming nuptials, she was left with both battling for equal space in her mind.
Gracen let her thoughts run wild; the poor iced coffee with its thin-walled plastic cup took the brunt of the anger with every frustrated sip that rattled the half of a large cup of ice cubes. Frankly, rage-drinking the coffee was better than bursting into a puddle of tears in the shared parking lot of the town’s only coffee shop—with a drive thru—and the liquor store. Just across the road, separated by the highway and the exit ramp that took vehicles down the hill, was a cannabis distillery sharing a parking lot with the town’s nursery.
It took Gracen longer than she wanted to admit to stop herself from entering the liquor store for an emotional shopping spree. The last thing she wanted was to break down in sobs inside the store for all the employees, one of which was a friend of her ex’s sister, which would only add to the town’s stew pot of gossip that constantly churned. She even opted to turn her vehicle around in the parking lot so it didn’t face the liquor store, and she was left watching the vehicles pass or turn off on the highway and the people wandering the nursery’s outdoor selection of trees across the road.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t need a bottle of wine or a box of beer to confirm what she already knew. Nothing good came from drinking away pain, or that’s what she kept telling herself. So far, Gracen’s self-control proved to be better than she thought.
Surprisingly.
The only thing that might make her wallowing worse was doing so with a hangover. Not to mention, working. She had appointments booked for tomorrow.
Of course.
If it wasn’t one thing to remind Gracen how the world kept moving around her when hers felt like it had stopped, another waited nearby.
Except those thoughts just seemed silly and overdramatic, even Gracen told herself so, but that did nothing for the hiccup of emotion lodged in her throat. Or the single tear that escaped from her eye as a sporty, sleek motorcycle parked alongside her black Honda Civic. She wiped the streak of wetness off her cheek as the reflective shield covering the front of the rider’s helmet slightly turned her way.
Great.
Maybe someone had seen her tears.
There wasn’t even a window separating the two as Gracen had rolled it down after turning the car into a new parking spot and cutting the engine. Save the planet, and all that jazz. Really, constant air conditioning blowing in her face—like inside her small car—gave her migraines, and since she hadn’t decided to go home and face Delaney yet, never mind answering her friend’s numerous texts and calls, sitting in her car on the top of the hill it was. Gracen would not go home until she’d made sense of her feelings, and what she wanted to say to Delaney. Not something she would regret, or worse, couldn’t take back.
She owed them both that.
Next to her car, the rider of the bike with Suzuki branding on the front and back pulled off his helmet only to hang the safety gear on the handlebar. Not wanting to draw more attention to herself than she might have already done when he first pulled up, Gracen tried to focus on sipping what iced coffee remained in the bottom of her cup.
Which wasn’t much.
It wasn’t enough to stop Gracen from checking out the person in the parking spot next to hers. With shaggy brown hair that hung down around his ears and eyes, she didn’t get a very good look at his profile other than the sharpness of his jawline, but she wasn’t willing to get caught o
utright staring at the man.
Not that her choice was easy; the stranger happened to be cute.
Or maybe she’d always been a sucker for a guy in a leather jacket on a motorcycle. Never enough to act on the urge, obviously, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fantasize occasionally. Even if the very idea of riding one down the highway terrified her to no end. The closest she’d ever came to the experience was being passed by riders on the highway going thirty over the limit with nothing but asphalt ahead of them on the horizon. The only thing she could think about was the fact nothing remained between the rider and pavement except the bike, but it wouldn’t offer much protection once they both hit the ground.
Gracen settled herself with admiring the cute stranger and the way his thighs hugged the bike parked next to hers, but nothing more.
“Would you keep an eye on my bike for me?”
Gracen blinked.
First, she glanced toward the guy who had leaned closer to her opened window where his striking blue eyes could get a better look at her, but then she just as quickly looked back out her window. Positive he hadn’t spoken to her.
Surely not.
Why on earth would some random stranger want her to look after his bike in the middle of town, of all places? She was wrong.
“Yeah, I meant you,” the guy said, leaving no room for question.
Gracen peeked his way again.
Now, he leaned against his helmet on the handlebars with a grin as he watched her from his perch. Only one of his booted feet rested to the ground. The longer bits of wavy hair that had fallen in front of his eyes got shoved back by his fingers raking over the top of his head.
He nodded her way. “Could you keep an eye on the bike? I’ll be five minutes—max.”
Gracen laughed a little, using the cup in her hands as something to focus on while she told the stranger, “I mean, it’s The Valley. Nobody’s stealing anything here. I don’t think you have very much to worry about. Are you new?”
She didn’t mean for it to sound rude, but it was possible that it still came out that way. Before she could apologize and explain, however, the guy hopped off his bike with a chuckle.
“Definitely not new to the area, but I’m not sticking around for too long, either,” he muttered, but adding nothing more to the topic to explain his unusual and random request. “Here, catch.”
Gracen, not particularly the best with her hand and eye coordination, nearly missed the set of keys he tossed between their respective vehicles. Somehow, she managed to snatch the jingling ring as it flew beyond her opened window.
“What’s—”
“Don’t ask what they are. You know. I’ll grab them on the way back, okay?”
“Sure ... I guess?”
He didn’t wait for more of a response. More confused than ever, Gracen could only smile at the surreal scene while she watched the back of the stranger shrink in the side mirror as he walked across the parking lot. Being the honest woman that she liked to pride herself to be, Gracen had to admit the sight of his thighs and backside hugged in black denim looked just as good as when he’d been straddling his bike.
Jesus. Hadn’t she just been crying about her ex five minutes ago? She couldn’t understand why Sonny could take up space in her entire mind, so much so that she felt like a puddle of useless emotions, only for a stranger to come along with a cute grin to knock her ex off his throne. Shouldn’t that mean her past and long-dead relationship was beyond over?
Why did it still have to hurt?
Like this, too?
A shaky breath escaped her.
And then another.
By the time the stranger had disappeared inside the liquor store in her mirror, Gracen had wiped away another stray tear or two. Using the same hand that clutched tight to the man’s motorbike keys. She didn’t have the first clue how her life could seem so put together on the outside but feel like it was all crumbling to pieces on the inside. Didn’t that make her a fraud?
Always pretending?
Getting control of her emotions was easier said than done the second time around by focusing her attention on fiddling with the key ring. It helped. She toyed with the gleaming silver charm in the shape of her home province—the engraved home making her smile as her thumb traced the jagged edge of New Brunswick’s coast. If anything, it took her mind off the mess that had become her current day and put it back on the stranger whose name she hadn’t thought to get before he asked for his favor.
A favor she still thought was silly.
Especially in a town like this.
Crime was low. Laughably. Teenagers took up most of the criminal activity with bridge jumping in the summer or vandalizing someone’s property. For the most part, next to the slightly culty church on the hill that left people alone if it was given the same respect, there wasn’t much else to see happening in the sleepy valley town.
And he said he wasn’t new?
Gracen glanced down at the keys again, considering ...
Was he trying to talk to me?
She barely had time to ask her the question, never mind a moment to consider the answer, before her phone rang in the cupholder. Assuming right away that it was the same person who had called her the last four times—Delaney—Gracen barely glanced at the screen when she scooped it up. She screened a lot of her calls, a hazard of the job, and it was second nature to swipe her thumb to reject the call to voicemail before she even thought about it.
Gracen realized too late the called had been Valleyview Manor.
Crap.
She wouldn’t get a chance to call back.
“Care to make a trade?” Gracen heard asked at her left.
She still hadn’t bothered to turn on the car and roll up the window. Maybe that’s what made people think she was up for conversation. Except it wasn’t somebody new. Buddy on the bike was back with that same lopsided grin of his from before that showed off just a hint of his white teeth. Outstretched in his hand was a four-pack of a pink Nova Scotian distilled Rosé cider that Gracen knew well. The brand was a secret favorite of hers that this man couldn’t possibly know she liked.
“A four-pack of No Boats On Sunday for my keys back,” he told her, smiling a little wider so those shockingly sky-blue eyes of his squinted with a few crow’s feet lines around the edges. He shrugged, too. “And maybe a thank you.”
She stared at the forty-dollar thank you. She didn’t plan to refuse the liquor, but not before she got a few things straight.
“You could have just asked for my number,” she told him. “Forty bucks is a pretty expensive trade for digits. Just saying.”
The split second of surprise that flitted over his face was worth Gracen gaining the nerve to say that to his face.
To his credit, the guy recovered quickly, with the kind of smile that could wax poetic nothings all evening if he was doing it between her thighs. He had just enough facial scruff around his mouth and across his cheeks to make the experience worth it. His laugh, deep and rumbly that shook his six-foot, broad-shouldered frame, only confirmed her dirty thoughts further. Gracen needed to move on.
Before this became a problem.
“Or maybe I figured a chick crying alone in her car didn’t need someone hitting on her at the same time,” he offered as Gracen handed his keys over.
She froze on taking the liquor he still offered, cheeks rushing red with heat.
So, he had seen.
Gracen couldn’t quite meet his eyes after that, but her grip found the four-pack of Rosé without trouble. He didn’t let go right away, making Gracen struggle to get a hold of the box’s handle without touching him. Not that she didn’t want to, but shit, as if she needed to add to her embarrassment.
“Anyway,” Gracen said, desperate to change the conversation, “I suppose I’ll accept it as a thank you.”
“Of course. It’s Malachi, by the way. Malachi Anders,” he said, finally letting go of the box and trading her for his bike keys. “And you don’t n
eed to worry about giving me your number. The girl at the cash told me this was what her friend likes to drink when she’s having the kind of day you might be. Enjoy your evening.”
He stepped back toward his bike, and Gracen couldn’t help herself.
“I’m Gracen.”
He squinted back her way; his tanned skin gleamed under the sun that had started to set and turn the almost cloudless sky a bright pink-orange while he considered her with a different gaze. More pensive; like he was searching for something there.
“Gracen,” Malachi echoed.
“Briggs. Gracen Briggs. I own the Haus down the hill with my friend.”
Why did she share that info?
Giving him a place to find you, Grace?
Her inner voice was a real bitch sometimes. Especially when it used that nickname.
Malachi’s stare widened with recognition. “The salon?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. Cool.”
That was it.
He offered nothing more before turning back to his bike with the brown paper bag that covered whatever bottle of liquor, he’d purchased for himself in the store. He put the long-necked bottle into the small pouch attached to the back of his seat, and then reached for his helmet.
Gracen’s heart—or was it her silly head? —seemed to still be two steps ahead of the rest of her choices without her input. She’d not given the decision any thought before popping open her dash to grab a stack of cards she kept there just in case. One never knew when they might need a business card, especially when one was in business.
She stuck the card with the signature gold scissors cutting through the name Haus with her name and personal cell phone number underneath.
“But if you still want it,” she told a smirking Malachi looking her way, “here’s my number.”
Chapter 4
