“Strike that question. I have a vivid imagination,” she said.
He skimmed his hand from her upper arm to her hand for a brief caress before stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. The moment took on a clandestine feel. She glanced around and Wyatt’s head swiveled away as if he had indeed been watching them.
“I guess your brothers know I spent the night.”
“Hard to hide things when we all live and work on top of each other.”
“Are they okay with us?” She assumed his invitation established the existence of an us.
“I didn’t ask since it’s none of their business. But if you’re curious, Mack told me I better not eff things up since you’re the best mechanic this side of the Mississippi. That’s high praise coming from him, by the way.”
High praise, indeed. Mack’s standards were impossibly high. She switched gears, injecting some tease. “Did you oversleep this morning?”
“No. I had some business to take care of.” He didn’t even crack a smile.
A commotion at the door saved her from having to navigate the sudden uncomfortableness of the moment. Sutton Mize leaned over to give Wyatt a kiss but slapped his dirty hands away when he would have pulled her in for a hug too. Still laughing, she weaved her way around a toolbox and the car in the first bay and stopped in front of Willa and Jackson.
“It’s time.” Sutton propped her hands on her hips and called out. “Mack, I need to borrow Willa for a couple of hours.”
He tipped up his mask. “Go for it. It’s going to be a slow week.”
Jackson slipped the work order from Willa’s slack fingers. “I’ll handle the Jeep. You go.”
Willa wasn’t sure she wanted to leave with Sutton. She honestly hadn’t thought the other woman was going to follow through on her offer. Polite overtures were common; action was not.
Wyatt joined them. “Sutton’s been looking forward to this all week. You don’t want to disappoint her, now do you, Willa?”
With the announcement of Sutton and Wyatt’s engagement, she was practically an Abbott, which held some weight. Willa adjusted her cap and smoothed a hand down her coveralls, feeling overwhelmed. “I guess not.”
“Good.” Sutton slipped an arm through hers and guided her toward the door with a stride that seemed impossible in her heels. “We have lots to do.”
How long could it possibly take to try on a dress? A half hour tops including travel time. She’d be back before Jackson could even finish the Jeep’s exhaust-system check and would make up the time by skipping her lunch break. Feeling better, she trailed Sutton to the parking lot.
“I’ll drive,” Sutton said, sliding behind the wheel and cranking the engine.
Sutton’s car wasn’t anything special, but it was a luxury vehicle compared to Willa’s piece of crap on wheels. Still, she hesitated. Getting into Sutton’s car meant giving up a getaway. A rope of anxiety tightened around her chest and left her feeling trapped.
Sutton rolled down the passenger window, leaning down to catch her eye with a genuine smile. “I’m not a crazy driver. Promise.”
If Wyatt trusted her, then Willa could too. At least for a half hour. She opened the door and plopped down. The interior was still warm from the drive over. Willa unzipped her coveralls halfway, revealing a ratty black T-shirt at least two sizes too big and intended for a man, and promptly zipped it back up.
Sutton pulled around to a narrow alley at the back of Abigail’s Boutique. Willa followed her through a heavy, serviceable door and into a utilitarian storage area. It reminded her a little of the shop floor and her trepidation receded. This would be over in no time.
The clack of Sutton’s heels echoed off the expanse of concrete. She bypassed the office and pushed through a set of floor-to-ceiling swinging doors.
A couple of women browsed through racks at the front of the shop. Another woman wearing glasses and with her brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail sat behind the counter reading a book.
Sutton pointed. “My sister, Maggie. Maggie, this is Willa.”
The woman’s smile was friendly enough but distant. While Willa noted a superficial resemblance to Sutton in a shared build, Maggie’s expression was more serious and reserved. She lacked the dazzle and welcome Sutton wore so naturally.
“Nice to meet you. Can’t wait to see you in the dress Sutton designed.” One of the shoppers waved from the front of the store, and Maggie set her book down. “I’ll handle them while you two work some magic.”
Sutton gestured her toward the nearest changing room. “Your dress awaits. Be careful because there are still pins in the hem.”
Willa took one step toward the room and stopped. “Look, I can’t pay you. Or not much anyway.”
“Was I not clear? Consider this a gift. Or a favor, if you’d rather. Next time I have car trouble, I’ll bring it to you instead of Aaron’s Garage.” Sutton winked, and Willa couldn’t help but smile back. As if Wyatt would trust anyone else but him to work on her car.
Willa took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she’d find inside the changing room. The concoction of fabric on the hanger looked too delicate to wear. Instead of the expected blue, it was a mossy green. She might have gasped.
Sutton shut the door, but not before Willa caught a glimpse of her satisfied smile in the mirror. Willa ran her fingertips over the gauzy layers of skirt which looked like it would hit her above the knee. In contrast to the demure bottom, the top was strapless, the bodice stiff. It was gorgeous and no way would she be able to do it justice.
She pulled off her cap and ruffled her hair. Even when she didn’t have hat-head, it was a mass of split ends and uneven edges. And what about shoes? Her choices were scuffed work boots or flip-flops.
She would try it on, thank Sutton for the time, and tell her to put it on sale in the boutique. Someone would buy it before the end of the day.
She laid her coveralls and T-shirt over the chair and stood there in her clean but worn-out underwear. Unclipping the dress from the hanger felt like a travesty. Something so beautiful wasn’t meant for someone like her.
She unzipped the side, stepped into the dress, and wiggled it up. At first she thought it was too small, but the zipper closed easily, her curves on display. The top of her white bra edged over the green gauze of the bodice.
She stared at her reflection. Even barefoot and with her hair a mess, she looked like a different person. A woman. Maybe it was the culmination of excising her past to Jackson and the sex and the last two years of relative safety that enabled her to realize how much she’d changed. Why did it take a pretty dress and a floor-length mirror to reveal it?
The terrified girl who’d run away was now a woman strong enough to make a stand. What form that would take didn’t come in a rush of particulars, but she would make a plan to face her past. Finally.
Something inside of her cracked open with the decision, and a tangled rush of emotions closed her throat to a pinhole and sent stinging tears to her eyes.
A soft knock sounded on the door. “Everything okay in there?” Sutton asked.
There was no escape from the tiny dressing room, or the boutique for that matter. She would have to suck it up and get through this before she could decide what road to navigate from here.
Without bothering to answer, she turned and opened the door.
Sutton gasped this time and clapped her fingertips together. “The green is magnificent. I’m glad I changed my mind.” An uncharacteristically uncertain look passed over her face. “What do you think?”
Willa chuffed. “It’s amazing and you know it. I’ve never felt … sexy before, you know?”
Sutton arched her eyebrows. “Not even when you spent the night with Jackson?”
An emergency flare went off in her chest and spread heat through her entire body. Splotches broke over her chest resembling a virulent rash. She sputtered something that wasn’t exactly a denial.
“Don’t be embarrassed. I have a feeling
all those Abbott brothers are good with their hands. I know Wyatt sure is. Comes from working on cars, I’d guess.” Sutton made a sound like she’d tasted something delicious.
The isolationist part of Willa wanted to stick her fingers in her ears and hum “The Star Spangled Banner,” while the part of her that was starved for friendship and connections wanted someone to talk to. “You don’t understand. Things are complicated. Not straightforward like they are between you and Wyatt.”
Sutton’s laughter pealed. “Straightforward? Remember how we got together?”
“You’ve got a point there.” Willa turned to the bank of mirrors.
The bra was an unsightly slash of cheap cotton against the rich green. She shimmied out of it and dropped it at her feet. The neckline was low but the bodice was stiff and molded her breasts. The skirt flared over her hips. Even her legs looked longer.
“Jackson is going to lose it when he sees you. God, your body. I’m so freaking jealous. Once we get your hair done, you’ll—”
“My hair?” Willa smoothed her hair back and caught Sutton’s gaze in the mirror.
“You don’t want a fairy godmother, but as your friend, I cannot possibly let you pair that hair with my dress.” She paused before adding, “No offense.”
“I can’t let you—”
“Do you love your hair? If so, I’ll back off.”
She had loved her hair. And so had Derrick. Cutting it had been her sacrifice to appease her guilt. Plus, practically speaking, her long hair had been her most identifiable feature. Easier to go incognito without it.
“I don’t like it. It’s horrible.” She fingered the uneven ends at her nape.
“Then we’re in agreement. The appointment’s been on the books since before Christmas.” She glanced at a slim silver watch on her wrist. “In fact, we’d better hustle. Brenda gets in a snit when you’re late. Let me repin the hem. It needs to be a tad shorter.”
Sutton dropped to her knees and fiddled with the hem. Willa couldn’t take her eyes off the new her in the mirror. Not new exactly, but newly discovered. She wanted Jackson to see her like this and not in a ball cap and coveralls, but owing Sutton didn’t settle well. Debts had a way of being collected one way or another.
“Why don’t you run a tab of expenses and I can pay you back over the next couple of months,” Willa said.
Sutton looked up from her position on the floor and took a pin from between her lips. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I need.”
“Fine.” She stuck the pin into the cloth and shook her head.
Willa had probably set TNT under whatever bridge to friendship they were building. She opened her mouth to apologize, make an excuse, joke—anything to break the sudden tension—but Sutton rose and dusted off her knees, her gaze skimming Willa’s body critically.
“I don’t think I need to make any other alterations. You look gorgeous.” She gave Willa a little push toward the dressing room. “You can leave your coveralls here. We’ll walk over to Brenda’s.”
Willa removed the dress as if it were breakable and hung it back up. Seeing herself back in the ratty shirt and ripped-up jeans was a shock. She turned her back on the mirror. “Could you pass over my bra? I dropped it in front of the mirror.”
“Sure. Hang on.” Sutton’s voice sounded like she was moving away and not toward her.
Just when Willa was ready to step out and retrieve the bra herself, a hand holding pristine white appeared over the top of the door. Sutton dropped a bra over, but not the one Willa had put on that morning. She lifted it up by the straps and examined the satin and lace as if making a scientific discovery.
“This isn’t mine.”
“Oops. I burned your bra. Consider yourself liberated.” A tease lightened Sutton’s voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it on your tab.”
Unless she wanted to walk out braless, she didn’t have much choice but to slip it on. She stepped out of the changing room with her hat on expecting a comment, but Sutton only smiled and said, “Let’s go.”
Maggie waved them off and ensconced herself behind the counter with her book once more.
Without her coveralls as protection against the cool wind, goose bumps stood up over her arms. Sutton kept up a brisk pace down the street away from the river.
“Brenda can be a little off-putting, but she’s the best. She stays booked months in advance in spite of her personality,” Sutton said.
They passed the pizza place and Regan Fournette’s interior-design shop and the ice-cream parlor until they reached the end of the street where A Cut Above was tucked into the corner and marked by a simple dark-stained wooden placard. No neon sign or striped barber pole. The more discreet the sign, the more exclusive the establishment.
Sutton pushed the door open. The poof of air drew her inside with the scent of expensive hair products undercut by a slight chemical tang. The woman who greeted Sutton with two air kisses was heavily made up with hair too big for her petite frame. She wielded a vicious-looking pair of scissors like they were part of her hand. Willa guessed she was in her early fifties, but she could have been off a decade in either direction.
“Is this our project?” The lady reached for Willa’s ball cap, but Willa pulled back.
Sutton looped their arms and leaned close. “I haven’t failed you yet, have I? What’s the worst that could happen?”
Willa widened her eyes and tilted her head slightly toward the woman that greeted them. Brenda looked like a splinter got lodged under her finger, her mouth pinched, the fine lines along her top lip hinting at a nicotine habit.
Sutton smiled, her suppressed laughter sneaking into her voice. “Brenda. This is Willa, and as we discussed, she needs a cut and color.”
Brenda waved a pair of scissors around Willa’s face. “Can I see what I’m dealing with, young lady?”
When Willa balked, Sutton pulled her hat off.
Brenda’s exclamation was not at all ladylike. “Well, I can’t say you didn’t warn me, Sutton. Follow me.” Her tone was militant, and Willa followed automatically even as she shot Sutton a dirty look.
Sutton smiled and waggled her fingers good-bye.
Willa was whisked to a secluded cubicle in the back of the shop and pushed into a cushioned chair, a satiny cape snapped around her neck. Brenda paced behind the chair, the metal slice of the scissors opening and closing accompanying the older woman’s rhetorical musings. At least, Willa assumed they were rhetorical.
“Harder to style short hair. The color is dull, but not one-dimensional. I can work with that.” She took Willa’s chin and tilted her face back and forth. “Extensions?” Before Willa could reply in the negative, Brenda muttered, “No. Better to emphasize your unusual face shape. And a dry cut for precision.”
The woman operated the scissors with a comfort and confidence Willa could appreciate. It was the same way she felt about her tools. Without ever directing a question toward her, Brenda spun her chair around so she faced away from the mirror.
A comb appeared in the hand not wielding the scissors, and Brenda went to work. Willa didn’t enjoy relinquishing control, but it was just hair, and the only way it could get any worse was if Brenda shaved her head. Actually, even that might be an improvement.
“All done.” Brenda slipped her scissors into the pocket of her smock. The haircut had been quicker than an oil change.
Willa twisted to check out her new cut, but Brenda stopped her with a clawlike grip on her upper arm. “No peeking until the color is in. Come with me.”
Brenda led her to another chair, this one without a mirror but with a rinse sink. Willa tensed, expecting Brenda’s hands to be rough, but the massage of cool paste over her head was soothing and she closed her eyes. As long as she didn’t end up as a fake blond, she didn’t care.
Two more rounds of similar cool, sweet-smelling rubdowns followed, each one washed out with warm water. Finally, Brenda towel-dried her hair and said, “Back to my chair.�
�
Brenda shuffled through Willa’s hair while a blow-dryer provided white noise and warmth. Willa wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Brenda put everything aside and whipped off the cape.
“Are you ready?” Brenda had a smile on her face for the first time.
“You can’t have made it worse, so why not.”
Brenda spun her around. Willa blinked at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t unrecognizable. In fact, it was more like she’d been cast back in time. Her brown hair was a rich chestnut with hints of auburn. It was trimmed and evened out and tumbled in waves around her face that looked deliberate instead of messy.
She tucked one side behind her ear, the strands silky and bouncy. “It’s great.”
Brenda’s smile was closer to a smirk. “What did you expect?”
Willa turned her head this way and that. The woman was an artist with her scissors. “Not this. Thank you.”
Brenda patted her shoulder kindly, but her voice was brisk. “You’re welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, I have another client.”
Willa smothered a laugh, hopped up, and weaved her way back to the front. Sutton was slouched in a chair, one high heel dangling from her crossed foot, reading a gossip magazine. She glanced over the top when Willa cleared her throat.
Her eyes flared wider and she stood up, the magazine falling to the floor. “Perfect. Do you like it?”
“How could I not?” Willa ruffled the back, which was slightly shorter than the top now. “You were right about Brenda.”
“Now do you trust me?”
Sutton was teasing, but the question held deeper meaning for Willa. She guarded herself fiercely, but she was finally ready to trust Jackson with all her secrets, wasn’t she?
She gave Sutton a tight-lipped smile and held out a hand. “My hat?”
Sutton started to hand it over but jerked it out of Willa’s reach. “Are you going to put it back on?”
“I’m going back to work, so yes.”
“But you’ll squish your hair.”
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 19
