Cut Free (The Sublime Book 4)

by Julia Wolf

  Cut Free

  The Sublime

  Julia Wolf

  Copyright © 2018 by Julia Wolf

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by: Amy Queau

  Editing by: Ashley Martin

  Proofreading by: Monica Black

  Formatting by: The Side Hustle

  To all of the romantic, hopeful hearts out there:

  never, ever change.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Julia Wolf

  Coming in October 2018

  Pixie Cut

  Chapter 1

  Author’s Note

  The town where The Sublime Series takes place, Tiber City, is based on a very real place, Ellicott City, Maryland. On May 27, 2018, the town’s historic main street suffered a devastating flash flood, destroying dozens of businesses and houses, and costing one heroic man his life.

  The town will never be the same, since many of the businesses will not rebuild, including the smokey purple salon that Salon 410 is based on. But where there’s hope, there’s always a chance. Nothing can bring back what was lost, but something new will inevitably form in its wake.

  And as the little bumper sticker on my car says, hope is higher than water.

  One

  What was that saying? “Live your best life”? Yeah, I definitely wasn’t doing that.

  I was in survival mode. I had been for the last six months. The only way I stayed somewhat sane was through order, lists, and routine. Every day was the same: out of bed at six a.m., run, piano, work, in bed by ten at night.

  Today, my routine was thrown out of whack from the second I opened my eyes. For no reason at all, my alarm didn’t go off, so I woke up twenty minutes late. Then, the shoelace on my sneaker broke, so I had to wear an old, beat-up pair. When I finally made it out the door to start my run, thunder boomed. I ignored it, though. A little rain wasn’t going to scare me from getting my run in.

  I jogged down the hilly historic Main Street I lived on. It was deserted this early in the morning, but soon, it would come alive with business owners opening their antique shops and art galleries and shoppers going in and out of each store. Our town, Tiber City, was small, but I wouldn’t call it a small town. We were a short ride from Baltimore, and most of the business owners commuted from the city, bringing with them hip, artistic, open minds.

  I turned down a narrow side street leading to the paved trail I always ran on. Here, there were finally other people. I saw a lot of the same faces every day and liked to imagine some of them were like me: recovering from a major upheaval by taking control of their lives through order and routine.

  I picked up my pace when there was another crash of thunder. Today’s goal had been ten miles, but I mentally cut it down to seven due to my late start. I was a much nicer person after a really long run, but seven miles would have to do today.

  I’d been running since I was a teenager, but I had never become one of those people who loved it. To me, running was necessary. So even though my legs burned and my lungs strained behind the walls of my chest, I pushed past it all. As much as it hurt, my body and my mind craved it. I could shut out the maelstrom of thoughts and worries that churned in my brain the rest of the day.

  By the time I circled back to Main Street again, it started raining, so even though my legs were telling me they were done, I sprinted up the hill to my building and ran up the metal steps to my door. Once I was inside, I dripped on my welcome mat for a few seconds before sliding into my bathroom to take a shower. If I hurried, I could get back on schedule and have my full hour to play piano at Abe’s Music Shop.

  My shoulder-length hair was poker straight, so I only bothered to dry it halfway. No matter how much I styled it, it always ended up looking the same anyway. When I blinked, my heavy bangs tangled in my eyelashes, reminding me once again it was time for a trim—and had been for the past two weeks.

  I dressed in my uniform of all black: loafers, cigarette pants, and a ruffle tie-neck blouse with subtle polka dots. Every day, I dressed in some variation of the same theme: professional and streamlined, but always all black.

  After lining my eyes in—surprise!—black, I swiped on nude lip gloss, gathered my umbrella and bag full of sheet music, then walked through the rain back down Main Street to begin my favorite part of the day.

  I let myself into the shop and inhaled deeply. The distinct smell of old wood, lemon polish, and vintage sheet music filled the air. I met Abe six years ago when I opened Salon 410 on Main Street, and six months ago, when I moved to my apartment, he gave me a key, urging me to come in and play whenever I liked.

  Before moving unexpectedly, I had my own piano, so I only stopped by Abe’s shop when I had free time during the day. But I hadn’t been able to take my piano with me—not that I would have been able to cram it into my tiny apartment.

  I sat down at the baby grand piano in an alcove near the window. He had several other pianos to choose from, but this was my favorite. The sound produced by this beautiful instrument was so clear and lovely, I’d gotten spoiled playing it every day. It would be hard to go back to a plain old upright.

  I pulled out a new sheet of music from my bag. After the frantic morning I’d had, I wanted to play something fun. I’d grown up playing strictly classical, something my mother insisted upon, but over the last year, I’d been experimenting with learning popular music and teaching myself songs I heard on the radio. I felt almost edgy the first time I tried out a Coldplay song, which even I could admit was ridiculous. But it was so far outside my comfort zone, there was something rebellious about it. I’d latched onto that feeling and my catalogue of pop songs began constantly growing. Now, I found I much preferred to play P!nk over Pachelbel.

  After practicing my latest Top 40 pop song, I let myself get lost in “Hallelujah.” I closed my eyes and quietly sang along as I played. It was a slow song, and I’d practiced it enough that I didn’t need to look at music or the keys. My fingers knew where to move from sense memory.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  I jumped at least a foot off the bench and smashed my hands down on the keys, making a horrible, discordant noise. That was not Abe’s voice, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I turned around slowly and frowned at the man standing just inside the door.

  He raised his eyebrows when I faced him. “Ah, I know you.”

  My cheeks heated. I knew him too. I had only met him once, but our encounter had been beyond humiliating.

  “Hi, Charlie,” I said quietly.

  He walked into the shop, closer to where I was sitting
.

  “So, are you going to answer my question, Miss Eliza?”

  I grabbed my sheet music and stood, holding it in front of my chest. “I should ask you the same. Why are you in Abe’s shop? I know I locked the door behind me.”

  He stepped closer. “Interesting…”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “No, it isn’t. But then, you haven’t answered me, and I asked first,” he said.

  He was too close and too attractive. I couldn’t think. “I was playing the piano,” I managed to get out.

  “And you have a key to the shop?”

  I nodded.

  He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Are you always this easy to talk to?”

  I nodded again, and this time, he laughed.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. Yesterday evening, I bought this business from Abraham.”

  I gasped. “What?”

  “I’m sure you knew it was for sale, right?”

  Abe had listed his business, along with the rest of the building, for sale months ago, because at seventy-five, he was more than ready to retire. But since it had been on the market for so long, I hadn’t let myself worry about what would happen when someone actually bought it.

  “Yes, but Abe never mentioned anyone was interested.” I sat back down on the bench and looked up at him. “You really bought it?”

  “I did.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and rocked back on his heels as though he had not a single care in the world. Charlie was so outlandishly handsome, it was hard to look at him. With his full sleeves of tattoos and sleek black hair, he looked like he belonged on stage at a rock concert instead of standing in the middle of a dusty, small-town music shop.

  I moved around the bench and gathered my things. “I’m sorry for the intrusion then. Abe let me play his pianos before he opened the shop each day, but I understand I won’t be able to do that anymore.” I held the key out to him, but Charlie just stared down at it.

  “You didn’t intrude, Eliza. I was just surprised to see you here.”

  I stepped closer to him. “Just take it. I wouldn’t feel right coming here.”

  He pushed my hand away, and the instant his skin touched mine, my knees went weak. But that was silly. It had just been way too long since a man had touched me in any way, so my body would have responded to practically anyone of the male variety.

  “Keep it,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  He groaned. “You’re a frustrating woman. Not what I wanted to deal with this morning.”

  I straightened my back and raised my chin. “I’m sorry you had to deal with me this morning. It won’t happen again.” I quickly moved around him and placed the key on the ledge next to the door.

  “That’s not what I meant!” he called after me, but I was already walking out the door.

  Unfortunately, my salon was a mere diagonal trip across the cobblestone street from the music shop, so when I went inside and glanced out the large picture window, I could still see Charlie watching me. I turned away and went into the back room to hide.

  And just like that, the routine keeping me sane all these months had been blown to smithereens.

  Two

  In walked a leggy brunette with the grace of a dancer and mouth of a sailor.

  “Hey, girl!”

  I grinned up at her. “Hey, Frannie.”

  She sauntered over to the reception desk and sat next to me to check over her appointments for the day. I had come out of the back room after a few minutes of hiding, but hadn’t been able to bring myself to look out the window again, so I’d kept myself busy cleaning the salon and filing paperwork.

  “Looks like another busy day,” she said.

  “Yes, it does. I’m going to be inventorying all the hair color in the back between clients, so that should be fun.”

  Frannie elbowed my side. “You know you love it.”

  I laughed. “Okay, I do.”

  Like routine, neatness and order were part of my wheelhouse. There were few things that made me happier than going into the color room and seeing each box of hair color lined up neatly by level and tone. The stylists who worked for me tried to keep it tidy because they knew how I was, but it actually gave me pleasure to organize it. I was exacting, and I knew it, but I tried not to take my insanely high standards out on other people.

  “What are your thoughts on the wine bar tonight? I feel like it’s been forever since we did that.”

  I tilted my head to the side and thought about it. Frannie, Rachel—my business partner and friend—and I had made a habit of hitting the wine bar down the street after work at least once a week for the last few years. But life for all of us had changed a lot recently, with Rachel engaged and planning a wedding, Frannie moving in with her boyfriend, and me ending a long-term relationship. I had to admit I had pulled away from Rachel and Frannie lately, but my distance was more about self-preservation than not wanting to be with my friends. I was incredibly happy they had found love, but it was a little hard for me to watch now that I was in such a different place. But I missed them, and since my routine had already been shot to hell, I might as well shake it up even more.

  “Sure, let’s do it,” I said.

  Frannie clapped. “Awesome! I’ve missed our talks, E.”

  I laid my head on her shoulder. “Me too. It’s just been rough.”

  She laid her head on mine. “I know, sweetie. But you’re coming out on the other side and it’ll be so much better. You’ll see it soon.”

  I laughed lightly. “I thought I was the optimistic romantic in this friendship.”

  She lifted her head and smiled at me. “What can I say? That big hunk of a man of mine made my withered heart grow three sizes.”

  For the first five years I knew her, Frannie had never had a boyfriend, and had hardly even dated beyond Tinder hook-ups. She simply hadn’t been interested. That was, until she met James, a stoic bartender-slash-computer-genius who turned her world upside down and righted it again.

  The bell above the door chimed as Rachel walked in. “Hey, ladies!” she greeted.

  Seeing Rachel always made me smile. She was like a rainbow after a storm or that one defiant star that stuck around long after the others had faded. From her colorful, bohemian clothing to her wild, wavy red hair to her easy-going personality, we were opposite in a lot of ways. But she was the best friend I had in the world and I kind of wanted to be her when I grew up. Frannie and I had talked about it before and we both agreed Rachel was life goals.

  Frannie pointed at me. “I convinced this one to go to the wine bar.”

  Rachel raised her hands over her head. “Victory!”

  I laughed. “It didn’t take much convincing. I could really use a night out with my girls.”

  Rachel put her hands on her hips. “Oh, please. You’ve turned us down at least a dozen times. The only time I see you outside of work anymore is when you come over to jam with Joe.”

  Joe was Rachel’s fiancé, and I guess I would say he was my friend now too. We’d connected over music, and he’d actually been the one to pull me out of my music comfort zone. His piano wasn’t a baby grand, but a lovely upright I played while he played guitar and sang. Rachel liked to sing along too, but for someone so awesome, her voice was...not.

  “You’re right. I’ve been a crappy friend, and I’m sorry. That ends today. I’m done being miserable.”

  Frannie high-fived me. “About time, lady! I’ve been stuck having wine with Rachel and Joe. Not even I can take much more of watching them making googly eyes at each other like two lovesick fools.”

  “I seem to recall you’re a lovesick fool yourself,” I reminded her.

  She sighed and looked off in the distance. “Oh, that’s right, I am madly in love with my sweet James.” Then she pointed at me sternly. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been third wheeling it with the two lovebirds while James has been busy working and you’ve been
hiding from the world.”

  Rachel rested her hand on my shoulder. “Tonight will be just the three of us. No googly eyes allowed.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The door chimed again, and my first client arrived. It was time to get to work.

  I had backed off seeking out new clients once Rachel became my partner in the business a year and a half ago, but I had a solid clientele I’d built up based on my precision cuts alone. It should have been a surprise to no one that I was as exacting in the haircuts I gave as I was with everything else in my life. My clients came to me for perfectly blunt bobs and precise A-line layers. It thrilled me to no end to send a woman out of my salon with edges so sharp they looked like they could cut glass.

  As the day slipped by, the rest of the six stylists came in and the steady hum of murmured conversation and blow-dryers became my white noise. I felt myself relax, the tension in my shoulders and neck I seemed to carry almost all the time these days easing—especially when I got the chance to stand in the color room with my clipboard, making a list of which hair colors and supplies we needed to order. Rachel and I had split up a lot of duties when she became co-owner, but this was my domain.

  When the three of us were done for the day and I had cleaned up the salon, we walked a couple blocks down Main Street to the wine bar and found a cozy booth in the back.

  “Tapas?” Frannie asked.