Norma Jean laughs. “Sounds like a slice of heaven. And what about the guests? Any eligible bachelors worth mentioning?” She rubs her hands together as if she’s waiting for a slice of cake.
I wander to the reception desk and take a slow sip of coffee, pretending to study the appointment book. “Maybe one.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Maybe?”
Mrs. Fletcher checks in for her usual blowout, so I hold up a finger to pause the story until I can get her hair washed. I can’t help but giggle, questioning just how much is safe to share with Norma Jean. “There might’ve been a hot firefighter at my table,” I whisper as we walk past her to the sink. Not sure why I feel the need to lower my voice. Paige Fletcher is hard of hearing even with her hearing aids at maximum volume.
After I have Mrs. Fletcher’s conditioner rinsed from her hair and have returned her to my station, I start to quietly spill the tea on Dave when the doorbell jingles. As if her radar could sense there was juicy gossip to be had, in walks Fancy Weaver, Candy Cane Key’s one-woman gossip news network.
“Darn it. And we were just getting to the good stuff,” Norma Jean mutters under her breath.
We both know Fancy’s the last person you’d trust in this town to keep anything hush-hush. Heck, I wouldn’t tell her a secret if we were the last two people on earth. And she was a deaf mute.
“Morning, girls!” she trills, waving like she’s on parade. “Y’all seen the paper yet? I swear, that reporter’s got no shame. Printing all that nonsense about the sheriff’s niece.”
Norma Jean gives me a subtle side-eye.
“Can’t say I have,” I answer quickly, sweeping imaginary hair off the floor. “Why would I need to buy the paper when I’m sure you’ll fill us in?” I snicker.
Fancy grins. “Well, it turns out she’s been cut from participating in this year’s Christmas High homecoming court on account of getting caught keying her ex-boyfriend’s pickup. One of the cheerleaders spotted him on the beach with some trashy tourist.” Fancy makes a face of disgust, likely directed at the trashy tourist, not the cheating ex.
Grabbing my hairdryer and brush, I begin blowing out Mrs. Fletcher’s hair. Fancy’s too busy gossiping to notice half her volume is lost in the whir. Leaning toward Norma Jean, I mouth as best I can, “I wasthis closeto saying too much.”
“You’d have been tomorrow’s front-page headline,” she whispers back. “Jeez. That girl could start drama in a room full of house plants.”
“Local Hairdresser Runs Off With Fireman,” I say, and we both snort, trying not to laugh loud enough to draw Fancy’s attention.
Norma Jean gives Fancy a rinse before applying a new leave-in hair conditioner. Afterward, she escorts her to the dryer before returning to pat my arm. “All right, before Fancy’s done bakin’, tell me more. You can save the details of the hot guy ’til later.” She uses air quotes around the “hot guy.” “Tell me about the drive. How was it?”
I decide to leave out some of the sketchier portions of the trip. “I stopped at this crazy huge gas station that reminded me of a theme park. Buc-ee’s.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about that place.”
“It was nuts. Picture if the Super Walmart and a gas station had a baby. Then decided to sell every gift shop item you could think of. T-shirts, caps, soaps, lotions, candy… and all of it covered in their logo, a little beaver wearing a red cap.” I laugh.
“Then I drove through St. Augustine. Oh, Norma Jean. I wouldn’t mind visiting there one day. It looked amazing. A quirky mix of old and new.” I spritz some hair styling spray into my hands and rub them together before applying to Mrs. Fletcher’s locks.
“But the best part? I met this woman named Betty who runs a barbecue joint next to the motel I stayed at. She appointed herself my redneck fairy godmother.” I hooted. “She was loud as thunder, but askind as pie. I honestly enjoyed meeting her so much, I stopped there again on the way back home. She handed me a plate of ribs big enough to feed a family of six and said, ‘Darlin’, you look like a woman who needs meat and mercy.’”
Norma Jean hoots with laughter. “Lord, I love her already.”
“She even talked me into trying her peach cobbler moonshine,” I add. “It was so damn good, I thought I was gonna meet Jesus right then and there.”
Norma Jean fans herself, still giggling. “Only you, Char. Only you.”
I grin, but it fades a little as my thoughts wander back to that night. The dance, the stars, and the way Dave had made my body come alive with his electric touch.
Norma Jean can sense the change in my mood. Nothing gets past my friend. “So. Anything happen between you and the hot firefighter?” She mutters softly, her eyes darting over to where Fancy is sitting, preoccupied by her phone.
“No,” I lie. “Just a great night of dancing and a scorching hot kiss.” I fan myself at the memory. “They were all getting together the following morning for brunch, but I snuck out before sunrise to head back.”
Norma Jean’s eyes soften. “You didn’t even say goodbye?”
I shake my head. “No. I was afraid he was too tempting. I might not have left.” There’s more truth in that statement than I’m prepared to admit.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. She’s teased me on many occasions about my lack of interest in a long-term relationship. I’ve always tried to make it sound as if I’m not willing to risk my heart getting broken when I have a business to run. But secretly, I think she has an inkling there’s more to the story. She’s always been perceptive like that. Norma Jean clears her throat gently. “I’m gonna run down to The Gingerbread Man for an iced coffee and a pastry. You want one?”
Reaching for my cup, I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m still working on this one. Not to mention, I need to watch my weight after overindulging at the wedding.”
