by LK Farlow
The two women stare at me for a few seconds, the silence stretching out uncomfortably, until Kelly finally speaks. “Not a problem, seein’ as we’re not here to get our hair done.”
My hackles immediately rise, right along with the hair on the back of my neck. “But we’re not here to cause any trouble, either,” Kasey is quick to add.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I mumble under my breath, “Sweet Jesus, help me . . .” before fully addressing them. “Then why are y’all here?”
Kelly and Kasey exchange what could only be described as a plotting glance before Kelly points her thumb toward her chest and tells me, “Consider me your Ghost of Christmas Past.” She jerks her thumb toward Kasey next. “And her your Ghost of Christmas Future, if you don’t get your shit together.”
Dumbfounded, I stare at them. “Excuse me, but what?”
Kelly rolls her eyes. “Listen, Azalea. Honestly, we don’t mean you any harm. We just want to make sure you’re serious about Drake. That you really get it. That you’re not gonna hurt him. Again.”
I swallow nervously, hating the way they’re ganging up on me. “I have no intentions of hurting him,” I tell them, pleasantly surprised by the strength in my voice. “So y’all can go.”
“Not happening, honey. We need to talk,” Kasey says, settling further into the couch.
I’m about to lay into her when the timer in my apron pocket sounds. “Ah. Saved by the bell, ladies. Y’all have a nice night.” I turn and head toward the back of the salon, where Mrs. Keeler’s waiting for me, assuming they’ll see themselves out.
Except the shop bell doesn’t ring. Lovely. Just fucking lovely.
I shampoo Mrs. Keeler’s hair twice, adding in five additional minutes of scalp massage before leading her to my chair, where I very slowly set about drying and styling her hair, feeding her some BS line about wanting her style to hold all night with the humidity and chance of rain. Praise be, she likes being pampered and doesn’t argue.
Once I’ve smoothed her auburn locks into submission and teased her hair to high heavens, I spin her toward the mirror. “Oh, goodness, yes. This’ll do just fine, dear. Heck, those housewives just may circle me instead of Harold tonight,” she says, smirking at her reflection.
“You’ll be the belle of the ball, for sure. Why don’t you get changed out of this smock and meet me up front?” I tell her as I straighten up my station.
“Sounds like a plan, and please put me down with Myla Rose for color as soon as she’s back. She is coming back, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, she is. Still don’t know how Cash convinced her to take a fourteen-week maternity leave, but he did!”
Mrs. Keeler sighs, but her eyes are glistening. “That man,” she says as she turns and heads back to get changed. I smile and nod because I know exactly what she means. Cash Carson is everything Myla could’ve ever wanted, and then some.
“Of course, y’all are still here,” I grump to the two gorgeous brunettes occupying my reception area.
“Oh, yeah, girl. We’re still here. You go on and finish up. We’ll wait.” Kasey’s smile is so saccharine it makes my teeth ache. Or maybe that’s from me grinding them. Either way.
Ignoring them both as best I can, I pull up Mrs. Keeler’s client card on the computer and start scrolling through Myla Rose’s availability to get her scheduled with her in the next week or two. “Oh–oh, my!” Mrs. Keeler jolts when she steps up to the front desk, bringing a hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize we weren’t alone. Are these girls friends of yours, Azalea, dear?”
Fighting back a rather unladylike snort, I tell her, “Not particularly.”
Nervously, her eyes flit back and forth between us before finally settling on me. “Are you safe, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am. They’re friends of . . . a friend, I guess you could say. They just wanna talk. You have a nice night, and be sure to tell all those jealous housewives to come see us, yeah?”
“You know I most certainly will. Oh, and my appointment—”
Sliding a card across the counter toward her, I smile. “Yes, ma’am. I booked you for a re-touch and trim two weeks from now. On your normal day of the week and time. Does that suit you?”
“It does. Thank you so much, Azalea. Have a happy New Year!”
I wish Mrs. Keeler well and walk her to the door, locking up behind her before turning to face Kelly and Kasey. “Okay, ladies. What gives? Why’re y’all here darkening my door, so to speak?”
“Jesus, dramatic much?” Kelly scoffs.
“Right, and you’re one to talk. So, let’s not.”
“Look, I’m sorry. We’re not here to be rude, not really. So, let’s start over, okay?”
My skepticism weighs heavy. “Why?”
“Well, because if you don’t manage to fuck everything up this weekend, you’ll be seeing a lot more of us.” Kelly’s words have my mind reeling, trying to find some sort of logic to latch onto.
“Wh–what do you mean?”
Kasey sighs and Kelly shakes her head. “I’m engaged to Drake’s one and only employee.” She flashes her ring in my face. “He popped the question earlier this month, and we cut our vacation short by a day so I could come talk to you.” She stares at me expectantly.
“Uh . . . thanks?”
That earns me a smile, and damn if I can’t see exactly what Drake saw in her. Kelly James is freaking gorgeous. “You’re welcome.”
“Seriously, listen up,” Kasey cuts in. “Drake called us both and told us about your note. We’re just here to make sure you mean it. That you’re really—for real—all in.”
I try not to let it show that I’m upset he told them about my letter. I poured my heart and soul into it. But I trust him, and if he chose to share it with Kelly and Kasey, I’m sure he had a good reason.
“Wait! If y’all are here to make sure I’m serious, does that mean he’s coming?”
“Slow your roll, honey,” Kasey says, her words like a needle to my hope-inflated balloon. “He didn’t tell us if he was gonna be there or not. We’re just here to make sure you’re gonna be there, and for the right reasons. For some reason, that man loves you, and if you hurt him again . . .” She lets her words trail off, but I’m no dummy, and I can fill in the blanks.
I take a few steps away from them, toward the front desk to grab my jacket and purse. “Listen, ladies. As much as it pains me to say this, I’m glad Drake has y’all in his corner. Friends like that are hard to come by. Thank you for stopping by, but I assure you, it wasn’t necessary. Drake Collins is my past, my present, and my future. He’s the end game. The grand prize. And he’s mine.
“I may have made some mistakes along the way, but I get it now. I’m not scared of the future, and I’m no longer stuck in the past. I know exactly what I need to do, and I have no qualms about doing it. So, if you ladies could just be on your way, I need to get home and pack.”
Once my little mini-rant is finished, Kelly and Kasey exchange bright smiles before hopping up and heading out the door. I follow behind them, immediately dialing Myla Rose the second they’re out of sight.
30
Azalea
“Sister-girl, you need to chill,” Myla Rose soothes, her voice that perfect mixture of mom and friend.
“I just . . . Ugh. The fact that they came to see me has to mean he’s coming, right? Right?” I’ve been on the phone with Myla Rose for the past hour, asking the same questions over and over, and God bless her, she hasn’t snapped at me. Not even once.
“Azzy. Please sit down—”
“How do you know I’m not sitting?” I ask, interrupting her.
“Because I know you. Lemme guess. You have your suitcase on your bed, clothes strewn all over your bedroom, and you’re wearing a trail in the carpet at the foot of your bed from pacing back and forth.” I can’t help but laugh because she’s right on the money. That’s exactly what I’m doing.
“Yes.”
“Thought so. Sit down
and listen to me.” She pauses, listening to see if I’ll do as she says, and she must hear me comply because right after my ass hits the bed, she starts talking again. “Drake loves you. He L-O-V-E-S you. He will be there. Stop stressing. I know, easier said than done. I get that. But, stop stressing. Get packed. And try to get some sleep. Okay?”
“Okay. Yeah. I can do all that. Thank you, Myles.”
“Any time and every time. I mean that, Az. You need me to talk you off a ledge, you call. No matter what. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I tell her before hanging up and plugging the charging cable into my phone.
I make quick work of sorting the clothes thrown around my room into two piles—the Yes pile and the No pile—and from there, I narrow the Yes pile down into the Hell Yes, adding the items that made the cut into my suitcase. Everything else gets tossed onto the floor of my closet, a problem for another day.
My sleep is fitful, at best. I wake almost every hour on the hour with the same thought on my mind. Finally, at six, I can’t take it anymore. Peeling back the covers, I dash to the bathroom and switch on the space heater before drawing a hot bath.
I step into the tub, submerging myself all the way up to my chin, determined to clear my mind. He’ll be there. He’ll be there. He’ll be there. But it’s no use. This worry won’t ease until Drake is standing in front of me.
Once my fingers and toes feel like raisins, I drain the tub and get dressed. Yoga pants, an old high school hoodie, and my Uggs—I don’t care how much my girls make fun of them, they’re fucking comfy—the perfect outfit for an almost four-hour drive.
But before I hit the road . . . coffee.
And maybe some food.
Not wanting to do dishes before leaving, I decide to hit up Dream Beans for my food and caffeine fix. They have the most amazing bagels and the absolute best coffee.
I park my Z4 in front of the salon and make my way across the street—I swear, their being so close is both a blessing and a curse. Making my way to the back of the line, I pull out my phone to text the girls in our group text.
Me: Ladies, I’m grabbing breakfast before heading out. Wish me luck.
Their replies are instantaneous—almost as if they were waiting to hear from me.
Myla Rose: You don’t need luck, sister-girl.
Magnolia: Drive safer than me, and good luck!
Seraphine: Pssh. You don’t need luck. You got this. Oh, and turn around.
The last part of Seraphine’s text baffles me, but I slowly turn to look over my shoulder anyway. Sure enough, she’s standing in line behind me with a huge smile on her face. “What’re you doin’ here?” I ask.
“Just needed to get out of the house for a bit. The nurse is with Dad, and he’s sleeping, so . . .”
“Is . . . are you okay?” She shrugs her delicate shoulders, and I wrap her into a big bear hug. “You let us know if you need anything, S. Mean it. Even if it’s a shoulder to cry on, okay?”
“Okay, I will. Now, go order. It’s your turn.”
I turn to tell Hazel, the barista, what I’d like, but God bless her, she already knows. “Good morning, Azalea. Lemme guess. The biggest iced latte we have and a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese.”
Smiling, I pass her a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change!” Heck, maybe some good karma will help make sure Drake shows up tomorrow.
I move down the line and wait for Seraphine to order, and once both of our orders are called, we move to a small table by the door. “Do you have any big plans for tomorrow night?” I ask her between bites of my bagel.
“I think Simon’s having another cookout. I’ll probably head over there with Magnolia so that she’ll go.”
I smirk. “Do you think they have a thing for each other?”
“Simon and Mags? Definitely. Do I think either of them will ever admit it? Nope. Not in a million years.”
Laughing at her reply, I agree. “Yes! Simon is so quick to hand out relationship advice, but Lord knows, I’ve never seen him serious about a girl.”
“Yeah, and Magnolia, after everything that happened with her—well, just after everything, she’s pretty determined to go it alone.”
We both fall into a thoughtful silence at the mention of Magnolia’s past. I’m not sure what she’s running from, or if she even is, but it sure seems like it. Seraphine checks the time on her phone and stands from the table. “You’d better get going if you don’t wanna hit traffic. Text us and let us know when you’re there, okay?”
“Will do,” I tell her, hugging her once more before we go our separate ways.
The drive to Drake’s family’s lake house takes me a little under four hours, and good Lord, that doesn’t seem long, but in my tiny little car, it feels like an eternity. Not that I’d ever freaking admit that. Drake would have a field day, what with his constant jokes about the size of it. Calls it a Matchbox car. Such an asshole.
Using the key Mr. Collins gave me, I unlock the cabin and haul my suitcase over the threshold. “Holy bologna, it’s cold in here!” I draw the hood of my jacket up and over my head to keep my ears warm as I walk further into the space. “I know he mentioned something about the fireplace . . .” I mutter aloud to myself, desperately trying to recall his instructions. I know I could call and ask, but I don’t want to sound helpless. Or stupid. Plus, I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I mean, how hard could it be to light a fire?
Two freezing hours later, I admit my defeat. It’s really, really hard. You’d think the wood would just light, easy peasy, but nope. No dice, and it’s freezing. Like, my teeth are chattering. I know I need to head into town for some supplies. Maybe somewhere will have a space heater too.
With numb fingers, I drag my suitcase back to the spare bedroom. I heave it up onto the bed with every intention of digging out my beanie and a pair of gloves, but I’m sidetracked by the ringing of my phone. I glance at the screen, hoping to see Drake’s name. But it’s only Myla Rose.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” I tell her in lieu of a greeting. “I forgot to let y’all know I made it safe.”
“Ya think? We’ve all been worried. Seraphine’s even texted you a few times.”
“Seriously, Myles, I’m so sorry. I got in about two hours ago, and I’ve been trying to figure out how to light the fireplace ever since.”
“Oh, no! I bet you’re freezing!” Her voice oozes sympathy—Myla Rose knows how much I hate the cold.
“I can hardly feel my fingers, and I’m pretty sure my nose could one-up Rudolph’s. I’m about to head into town to grab some food and hopefully—” A loud sound from outside shuts me up mid-sentence.
“Hopefully what?” Myla Rose asks.
“Shh! I think someone’s here.” My voice has a slight tremor to it.
“Who would be there?” Her tone reflects my worry.
“I don’t—oh my God! The door. Someone just opened the front door. I’m gonna hang up. If you don’t hear from me in five minutes, call the police,” I whisper to her before ending the call.
With my finger hovering over the emergency dial button, I cautiously make my way toward the living room. As I round the corner of the hall, I can clearly make out the outline of a man crouched in front of the fireplace. I watch on in silent fear as he manages to start the fire in under two minutes.
He starts to rise from his position on the floor, and as he turns my way, I slowly back into the hall, my heart pounding in my chest. His footsteps grow louder, and I make a mad dash to the bedroom. I try to slam the door closed, but his hand blocks it.
“Jesus Christ, Little Bit! You trying to break my fingers?”
At the sound of Drake’s voice, I practically collapse onto the floor—though from shock or relief, I’m not sure.
My chest heaves as I struggle to pull in enough oxygen. Maybe I’m losing it. Maybe I’m imaging him being here. The figment of my imagination that looks like the man of my dreams lowers himself to his haunches directly in front of me and runs his fi
ngers over my cheek.
“Azalea, calm down. Deep breaths,” he tells me, and when I struggle to comply, he pulls me into his lap and wraps himself around me. “Follow the pattern of my breathing, Bit. You gotta calm down.” He takes several deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and by his third go, I’m starting to calm.
I’m also starting to realize that this is real. I’m not imagining shit. Drake’s really here. With me. Holding me. “Drake?” His name comes out as a question.
“Yeah?” he asks, still holding me close.
“Does this mean you forgive me?”
“I could never stay angry with you. But we do need to talk. About a lot.” He speaks the words into my hair, and I slide my arms up and around his neck.
“I know. We do. We really do. Thank you so much for coming here. For giving me another chance.”
Drake goes to reply, but the loud grumble of my stomach cuts him off. “Anything for you. You oughta know that by now.” He moves to shift me from his lap, but I cling tighter, not caring even a little how pathetic that makes me. It’s been over a month since I’ve been this close to him, and I’m in no way ready to give him up. “Slow down, girl. I just wanna stand, okay? Hold on tight.”
Using all those muscles he’s earned farming, he pushes himself into a standing position without ever setting me down. He takes two steps toward the bed and lowers me onto it, stepping into the space between my legs. In this position, we’re almost face-to-face, and my God, have I missed his eyes.
“Let’s head into town and grab some dinner and some groceries, and then we can talk. Okay?”
I nod, not trusting myself to keep my emotions in check if I speak.
“Good. Let’s go.” He takes my hand in his, and together, we walk out to his truck. He guides me to the driver’s side door and helps me into the truck before climbing in after me. I stay in the middle of the bench seat, close to him, and he doesn’t ask me to move.
