Jack continues grumbling just out of earshot, though I hear faint mumblings about common courtesy and public indecency. But I once saw the man make out with Dinah in front of the entire town in her pretzel shop… so he’s not one to talk.
Owen links our pinkies, smiling against my lips. “I love you, Brooke.”
“I love you. Desperately,” I answer, kissing him again. Nerves bubble in my chest. Though he’ll only be gone for two days, it will be the first time in months that we’ll be apart, and I can’t help feeling a little unsteady.
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder…” Jack hollers.
“If you wait outside, I’ll buy you breakfast,” my husband yells back.
“Later, Brooke,” Jack says quickly, shutting the door behind him.
Owen squeezes my waist with his free hand. “I’ll be home soon. We’ll celebrate with pizza and Mario Kart and a blanket fort in the living room.”
I nod, tears filling my eyes. I’d feel foolish with anyone but him, because I know he understands this fear. But I also know and trust that Owen will be true to his word. He always has been.
So maybe, most astoundingly, when Owen kisses my lips and promises again that he’ll come home to me soon, I believe him.
The Jones men leave, and I head to therapy where I make it all of twenty minutes before sobbing my way through the rest of the session. I’m in good company, though, because Mom meets me in stride. We talk about how my dad’s abandonment has skewed the way we both look for and view love. Her, approaching relationships and what should be lifelong commitments casually, and me, avoiding the only real romantic relationship I ever truly wanted, all to avoid the risk of being hurt so deeply again.
I hold her hand the entire time, praying this is a new start for Mom, too. Maybe this moment will be the catalyst that changes the trajectory of her life. When she makes an appointment to start her own solo sessions next week, I’m more hopeful than I’ve ever been.
Following therapy, my first day as Sumer’s stylist is a welcome surprise. She’s far less glamorous or entitled than I expected from someone with her star power. She bringsmea coffee, talks at length about her affinity for cereal—as she proceeds to eat bowls of it dry—and then, all but begs me to give her turquoise hair. We hang out like friends for hours until I’m due at the salon.
Which is where I find Mrs. Cotten waiting for her quarterly cut and color touch-up. She hops from my chair, pulling me into a tight hug as soon as I turn the corner to my station.
“Honey, you are a sight for sore eyes,” she partially loosens her hold, only so she can take my face in her hands—something that Mrs. Cotten and I have never done before—then she admires me like it’s been years since she’s seen me and not just a few months. “I was just telling my Michael how I simply couldn’t bear to have anyone else touch these locks… aside from himthat is, of course. The man can’t resist, and his love language is personal touch, after all.”
Never thought Mr. Cotten and Owen had so much in common, but I can’t wait to divulge this little tidbit to him later.
She releases her grasp to touch her faded, lavender-gray hair. “He simply loves to run his hands through this hair. But, honey, I’ll tell you what, I’m no common Jasamine.”
“I think you mean Jezebel?”
She waves her hand in the air and plants her bottom back in my seat. “Yes, yes. But what I mean to say is, I don’t stray, ya understand? A bond between a woman and her hair dresser is sacred. It’s you and my Michael. No one else.”
I can’t hide my smile.
“I couldn’t agree more, Mrs. Cotten.” She surprises me, grabbing my hand and pulling me a step closer to the chair.
“And, honey,” she says a little softer, after her solemn vows of fidelity, “Mr. Cotten and I were so very touched to be present at your wedding. He and I, well… we’ve been waitin’ a long time to see you two settled down. It sure will be an honor to watch you grow as a family, and though I know you have your sweet mama, I just want you to know, you’ll also always have all of your Honey Hill family behind ya, too. We’re rootin’ for you.”
Tears fill my eyes. Goodness, something about being married and so well taken care of has made me incredibly mushy. I cry all the time now. Good tears. Unbelievably happy tears. To think, I was contemplating leaving this town, these people, only a few short months ago when, today, the idea is unfathomable.
Mrs. Cotten decides she wants something new. So rather than her usual lavender, we pick a cotton candy pink, becauseMr. Cotten will want to just eat her right up.
Another detail from my day I tuck away to tell Owen later.
I also make a mental note to slip Mrs. Cotten Gloria’s number. I’m positive they’ll hit it off.
When I’m nearly finished with her color treatment and cut, the door bell rings, and Mom tells me my next client is here.
“I didn’t see anyone on my schedule,” I tell her, clipping Mrs. Cotten’s bangs.
“Oh, I added him for you,” she says, sweeping up her area. Her miniatures still litter her vanity, but maybe before long, she’ll let them go. Lethimgo. Mine is in a drawer in my bedroom. Why carry around a miniature when I’ve got the real thing parked in my driveway and a real true love who will always come home?
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Mom adds. “He’s a looker.”
I roll my eyes, questioning her judgement, but when said man swaggers around the corner, Mrs. Cotten nearly receives blunt bangs she didn’t ask for.
