“Of course,” I say, pushing to my tender feet so I can grab the bottle. “It’ll look fantastic with your tan.”
“I think my fiancé will appreciate it,” she mutters behind me.
Hearing that she’s engaged isn’t a surprise; the size of the sparkling diamond on her ring finger very much gives it away.
“Have you set a date yet?” I ask absently, as I retake my seat.
“We have. First weekend in September.” I nod along as she gives me a few more details before turning the conversation on me. “What about you? Anyone special in your life?”
My stomach knots.
“Umm…it’s complicated.”
“Ah, I see,” she laughs.
I’m usually pretty good at keeping my personal life locked down, but this time, I get the sudden urge to spill everything.
I don’t. None of my clients, even some of my long-standing ones, need to hear the disaster that my life is right now.
The conversation continues to flow, but I don’t miss the way she keeps trying to deflect my questions and turn them on me.
My unease begins to grow, and that previous feeling that I should recognize the woman sitting before me only gets stronger.
“Before you put the top coat on, could you add a little something for me?” she asks when I reach for the final bottle.
“Yes, of course. What would you like?” I ask, expecting her to ask for a flower or something.
But when her request rolls off her tongue, everything comes crashing down around me, and realization hits a second before the embarrassment does.
“Please could you add a little white number seven on my ring finger?”
“A…a number seven?” I ask, my voice rough.
Our eyes connect across the table, my blue to her golden ones. The longer I stare, the more I see it. Everett’s are darker, but the similarities are right there and have been this whole time.
“Shit,” I hiss, dropping my gaze to the table as tears burn the backs of my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Parker whispers, reaching across the table and placing her hand on top of mine. “I just needed to…”
I look up, silently begging for her to finish that sentence.
She deflates, sinking back into the chair.
“I needed to make sure he was right and that you’re not a bunny.”
Irritation shoots through me, but it doesn’t last very long. I understand.
“I promise you, Parker. I am not a bunny. I didn’t—” A hiccup erupts as I lose the battle against my raging emotions and my tears spill free. “I didn’t plan for any of this.”
“Oh shit,” she mutters before pushing her chair out as if she’s going to comfort me.
“No, don’t do that, your nails aren’t finished,” I all but yell.
She hesitates but sits back down.
I grab the bottle of white, praying my hands stop trembling so I can give her a decent number seven.
“You’re right, your fiancé will appreciate this,” I laugh as I reach for my brush.
