Fighting Love

by Melissa West

  “I know, Ms. Marsh. I booked it for you. You know, when you called last week, and I answered, ‘Donna’s, this is Zoey’?”

  Triple crap. “Of course.”

  “You can have a seat. Trish will be with you in a second. Want some water or something?”

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  “Lime or lemon in it?”

  “Lemon, thank you.” And suddenly the wheels in Sophie’s brain began to spin because she’d forgotten that Donna put fresh fruit in her teas and waters. Peach or lemon in the teas, lemon or lime in the water. This was perfect! She could offer to stock them for Donna at a discount, even hand deliver them, in exchange for Donna handing out pens and magnets. Or, wait. Wait, wait, wait! Maybe she could ask to have a tea party at the salon. Yes! Delicious pastries and fresh fruit, coupled with organic teas. It would be perfect.

  Now, she just had to figure out how to ask Donna without getting another glare in response.

  Zoey returned with the water, and Sophie sat down and began looking through the hairstyle books to find something new to try, though she knew she’d smile at Trish and ask for a trim, then call it a day. With her trims and manicures and eyebrow waxes, she found herself at Donna’s every other week it seemed like. Surely that level of business earned her a chance to talk to Donna about carrying Fresh Foods, right?

  Well, today, she would find out.

  Her gaze cut over to the windows beside her, a smile forming, until she locked on a truck parking outside AJ&P Bakery. Zac stepped out, dressed in rugged jeans and a green Littleton Farms T-shirt, work boots on his feet, an Atlanta Braves cap on his head. Her excitement melted away. She watched as he turned around, her eyes dropping to his backside before she could tell herself to be good, and damn. The man could fill out a pair of jeans better than any man she’d ever seen. Forcing herself to look away from Zac’s impressive assets—seriously, this was becoming a problem—she watched him go around to the back of his truck and pull out a Littleton Farms crate full of apples.

  Patty, the P in AJ&P, opened the door, and he kissed her cheek as he swept inside, then came back out for another crate of apples, then one with a variety of berries—strawberries, blackberries, blueberries. Everything needed for the delicious cobblers and pies sold at the bakery. When he was done, he grabbed a bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat and handed them to Patty, the sixty-eight-year-old beaming like he’d just asked her on a date. Good God, he was good.

  But two could play that game.

  Sophie could bring them flowers and kiss their cheeks. Annie-Jean, the AJ in AJ&P, was in this very salon. She’d kiss her cheek right this second!

  Okay, maybe not this second, but she’d work that in somehow.

  “Sophie? You ready?”

  She glanced up to find Donna a few feet away.

  “Um, yes. Is Trish not here today?”

  “She had to leave all of a sudden. Morning sickness.”

  “Oh, wow. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

  Donna waved her on. “I know it. Girl’s a pencil, and she’s three months in. By then, I already looked like a balloon ready to pop.”

  With a soft laugh because you could never tell if a woman wanted to be laughed at about things like weight or simply reassured that it wasn’t true, she followed the shop owner to the back of the black, white, and pink salon to the very last station—Donna’s station. The chair so few women in town were privileged enough to sit in because Donna stayed booked. Sophie couldn’t believe her luck! Finally, she’d have Donna’s ear for a solid amount of time. Now she just had to figure out a way to lengthen it.

  “Just a trim?”

  “Um, actually . . .” Sophie drew a breath, sure she’d lost her mind, but she needed to do this if she wanted to be in Donna’s good graces. “I was thinking of adding some layers. And highlights? Really, whatever you think. I want to try something new.”

  Something new? Dear God, what was she thinking? Visions of her long hair chopped off in one of those boy cuts all the celebrities wore flashed through her head, and she released a whimper before she could silence it.

  “Or just something simple. What-whatever you think?”

  Donna’s lips curved into a grin, and she clapped her hands together excitedly. “I have been itching to get a hold of this long mane. Are you sure anything goes?”

  Forcing back the urge to cringe and run from the salon, Sophie nodded. “Um, sure. I just need to keep a lot of the length so I can pull it back in a ponytail. Gotta keep it back when I’m baking and stuff.”

  Donna nodded as she walked around Sophie, lifting her hair and dropping it, then cocking her head in thought. “What do you think about red? I think you’d look amazing as a strawberry blond.”

  “No!” Then she cleared her throat. “Um, what I meant to say was, no, I’ve never considered it. But I think that could be real nice.” She needed some vodka. Stat.

  “How about we take it slow? We’ll add layers and then blond and strawberry highlights. It’ll look fantastic.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Sophie said, her smile tight. What was strawberry hair color? Like pink red? Oh God. She forced herself to draw a breath and calm down. It was just hair, it’d grow out, and she could dye it back if she hated it. But then she realized that no, she couldn’t, because she’d offend Donna and in turn lose any good favor she gained from the experiment. She would be stuck like this, like it or not.

  Deep breath. Deep, long breath.

  Donna went to the back to mix the various hair dyes and then returned with a tray of little bowls and several sheets of aluminum foil.

  “Um, what’s that?”

  A laugh came from the stylist beside them. “Gah, honey, haven’t you ever had highlights before?”

  Sophie bristled, but tried to keep her cool. She wanted to tell her, no, she’d grown up poorer than dirt. Nana did everything she could just to keep food on the table, so Sophie wasn’t about to waste hundreds of dollars on silly things like hair color when she’d have the rest of her life to worry about that. Like when gray set in, because although Sophie hadn’t colored her hair yet, she knew that day was coming. Like it or not. Nana was full on white-haired now, so Sophie thought she might follow in her footsteps.

  But she couldn’t say any of that. So instead, she leaned back in her chair and lifted her gaze to the hair stylist, every bit the confident woman that she was. “Actually, I’ve never had my hair colored before. So I knew highlights were a thing, but I’ve not paid attention to how it’s done. I’ve never had it done personally.”

  “Wow. Virgin hair. Donna, let me play with it.”

  Donna waved her off. “You’re insane, Bette. If I allow you to get your hands on this pretty mane, Sophie’ll leave here with her ends burned. No. We’re treading lightly here.”

  Releasing a breath, Sophie offered Donna an appreciative smile. “Thank you. I’m a little nervous.”

  “I can tell. Your foot’s tapping to a tune.”

  Sophie glanced down to find that, sure enough, her foot was tapping away on the tile floor. She lifted it up to the chair’s footrest. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine, sweets. Hair is personal. As women, we define ourselves by our appearance, even those who claim they don’t care. Even that is a look, you know?”

  Sophie thought of Nana and thought that might not be true. Nana cared about God and Sophie and little else, certainly not makeup and nice clothes. Which was maybe why Sophie had always cared about them. She wasn’t about to drop an arm and a leg on any of it, but she liked to look nice. It made her feel good, and she wouldn’t apologize for that.

  “It means a lot to me. My hair. I’m not really sure what I’d look like without my long blond hair. Like a stranger, I guess.” Sophie laughed, but the thought settled uncomfortably over her. Was she really that defined by her looks? The busty blonde? Those were the two things he never spoke ill about, and over the years, those were the two things Sophie tried to maintain. But he wasn’
t a part of her identity anymore, and she’d made a pact with herself to think of her wants now—what she wanted, what she needed.

  Well, this was the perfect opportunity to put her pact to the test and see if she could manage the business without being the busty blonde. She’d get these red-pink-whatever highlights and see if Rick at the grocery would still stock her produce. The risk made her contemplate telling Donna just to do the trim, she’d do the highlights next time—or in fifty years—but she was neck deep in this thing now. Literally. Because Donna had just snapped a cape around her neck and buttoned it, which felt a little too much like a straightjacket.

  A shiver ran down her spine, but before she could dwell on it, the shop’s door dinged and everyone’s eyes cut over, including Sophie’s. She tried with all her might to scrunch down in the chair and make herself invisible.

  “Hiya, cute bottom. Whatcha doing here?” Donna asked Zac, a giant grin on her face. The same grin everyone wore around Zac because apparently he was a celebrity in Crestler’s Key. Or maybe he really was a god. The thought made Sophie’s stomach lurch.

  He started to speak to Donna when his eyes cut down to Sophie. A wide, condescending smirk took over his face, stealing his original words.

  “Well, well, Ms. Marsh. Wasn’t expecting you here.”

  Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a salon.”

  “Ah, right. I guess you got me there.” He strutted over and reached out to lift her hair. “Finally getting this cut?”

  She swatted his hand away and flashed her best touch-me-again-and-I-will-break-this-hand-off glare. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Mr. Spike? Not everybody wears their hair gelled to high heaven.”

  The smirk returned, or maybe it’d never left. Sophie couldn’t be sure. “You need to work on your insults. They don’t land quite right. Maybe practice in front of a mirror. You know, while you’re crying over this mistake you’re about to make.”

  “Hey now.” Donna play hit Zac in the stomach and then giggled as she ran her hand slowly down his abs before pulling away and murmuring something that sounded like “sweet Jesus.” She headed to the back for more materials.

  A horrified look crossed Zac’s face, and Sophie burst into laughter that rumbled from her stomach to her toes. It felt good, and Sophie realized how rarely she laughed like that.

  “You like that, now, do you? See, you’re not the only one getting hit on around town.”

  “Is that what you call getting hit on? ’Cause if so, I’d say you need some help in the dating department. That was straight assault. You could call Jim and put in a restraining order, but that’d sure hurt your reputation around town.”

  Zac shrugged. “Nah, Donna’s harmless.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “What about me?”

  He glanced around and then leaned closer, his arms bracing the chair on either side of her, his I-live-and-breathe-the-outdoors scent hitting her like a tall glass of iced tea after a long, hot day. “Are you harmless? Something tells me not so much.”

  “You know, you like to throw around stuff like that. Flirt and all. But I rarely see you with anyone around town. Having dating issues, Littleton?”

  She expected him to laugh it off; after all, he looked like a freaking surfer, ripped body and all. What woman would turn down a man who looked like Zac? But instead of denying it, he stared down at Sophie like he couldn’t quite figure her out and then pushed away as Donna neared.

  “Whatcha doing here, sugar pants?” Donna asked.

  First cute bottom, now sugar pants? Did all the women in town talk to Zac like this?

  Probably so.

  “Brought you some limes.” He pointed to the front desk where a bag of bright green limes stared back at them.

  Damn it. Sophie had hoped Donna got her produce from Rick’s, not straight from the Littletons. Now she was going to be even harder to convert.

  “Thank you, honey.” Donna kissed his cheek, and Sophie realized for the first time that everyone here went around kissing cheeks. Once again, she thought she needed to adopt this skill if she wanted to fit in.

  “All right, gotta hit the farm. See y’all ladies around.” Zac winked at Sophie. “Until next time, Ms. Marsh.”

  Sophie crossed her arms, but then she realized he couldn’t see that act of defiance beneath her cape and instead tried to fix him with that sure stare of hers. “Littleton.”

  He laughed as he turned around and started to put his aviator shades back in place, when he caught Annie-Jean by the front counter. “Annie-Jean, that you? I didn’t recognize you with that cut.”

  The older woman beamed, and Zac walked over and, yep, pecked her cheek. “Had to try something different. I have me a new fella. You hear that?”

  Zac smiled. “I did. You give him hell, Annie.”

  She winked. “You know it, honey.”

  Then Zac strutted out of the shop, those jeans of his showing off every tight contour of his backside. Gah. Sophie needed a man, stat.

  Before she ran after the one she was supposed to hate.

  Chapter Four

  Zac parked his truck beside the U-Pick entrance and walked down to check out the strawberry patch. They’d start up that weekend, which was already two weeks late because of the late freeze this year.

  As he approached, he saw plenty of red buried in the green and released the same breath he held every year until they were sure their crops would produce.

  U-Pick was a monster all on its own. Separate from running the farm, Zac had to ensure U-Pick wasn’t just about the berries in the spring or apples in the fall, but a full experience for the families that came there. Some traveled in for no other reason than to hit Littleton Farms U-Pick, and Zac couldn’t let them leave disappointed. Sometimes he felt like he carried the weight of every customer’s satisfaction, both the regulars’ and those not yet discovered, on his shoulders.

  He wondered if his brothers felt that same weight, but he suspected they didn’t. Brady had never been the worrying sort, and when Charlie worried about something, he came to Zac.

  “Hey, boss man,” an aged voice called from behind him.

  Zac pivoted around, a smile already forming, as he took in his father. Ned Littleton went gray at twenty-five and never looked back, but you would never guess his age by the look in his eyes, that yearning for life still sparkling like a star that refused to die. And he did refuse, given that he’d had two massive heart attacks and a run-in with skin cancer. The universe seemed to want Ned to bow his head in defeat or wave the white flag and accept that his time on Earth was over. But Ned refused to go quietly, and Zac suspected his father would kick and scream the entire way to the grave.

  “What are you doing here? You know what Doc would say if he knew you were on the farm.”

  Ned winked. “Our little secret then.”

  “I’ll keep it from Doc, but you’re on your own with Mom.”

  Ned released a hearty laugh. “Wise man.” Then he hobbled over with his cane to the first row of strawberries, peeled back the plastic, and took a good look. “Small this year.”

  “Yeah, I know. But they’ll grow.”

  “Maybe.” He hobbled around to the next row and peered down in the same way, continuing on to each of the ten rows they planted every year for the strawberry U-Pick season.

  “What say you of that hippie naturalist grower in town? What’s her name?”

  Zac recovered the last row so his father wouldn’t have to bend down, then faced Ned and squinted in the sun. “At Fresh Foods?” Even the mention of Sophie made Zac’s insides come alive, which had to be his dislike of her and nothing more. But then he thought of his brothers accusing him of liking her and how frustrated he’d felt because maybe they were right.

  “That’s the one. Think they’re cutting into our margins at all?”

  With a shrug Zac motioned for Ned to follow him over to the other stations they had set up
for the incoming crowd. The picnic tables for coloring or enjoying a piece of pie from the store. The playground and swing area. The petting zoo where baby chicks and goats and a few bunnies would be stationed for the kids to greet.

  “Nah. I think eventually she might, but not yet. The town’s not buying into the need to pay two or three times as much just to call it organic. But I’m trying a few more natural approaches to appease those who care.”

  Ned nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ned stopped then and took a seat at one of the picnic tables. “You’re doing a fine job, son. Real fine. Better than I could have ever hoped for. I just . . .” He ran a hand over his head, then glanced back up at Zac. “Well, I’m not sure I say it enough, but thank you. I know this wasn’t what you wanted to do, that you’d rather—”

  “I’m here because I want to be, Dad. And I won’t have you thinking anything else about it.”

  But even as he said it, Zac turned away and adjusted the swings, one tangled up from the wind. Zac didn’t want his father to see the flicker of disappointment that was sure to cross his face.

  Zac loved his family, but Ned was right in his assumption that Zac never wanted to run the farm. But then, Zac didn’t want to do a lot of things he found himself doing in adulthood. Juggling two businesses. Raising a daughter on his own. Avoiding dating for fear of alienating said daughter. The list could go on forever.

  “I know you do what’s right,” Ned said. “That’s what makes you the man you are. But just remember to take care of yourself, too. That’s my one regret in life. Not doing what I wanted enough. Life’s short—at least a few moments should be selfish.”

  Zac suspected this was a hard conversation for Ned to have, so he gave him the exit he needed. “I appreciate that. Well, I’ve got to go get Carrie-Anne ready.”

  “Where’s she going?”

  “Sleepover.”

  Ned whistled. “Wow. Getting big fast, isn’t she?”

  “Too fast.”