Jessie examined her hands. She hated the acrylic nails. They were too long, and the color Patrick always insisted on—bright red—screamed “Look at me.” She felt especially uncomfortable when he insisted she wear the stilettos and form-fitting short dresses he’d bought her.
“Yes, make me an appointment for my nails. But do you think I should get them taken off, instead of getting them filled?”
Her mom remained quiet for a long moment. “It’s entirely up to you, honey.”
It had been such a long time since Jessie had been allowed to make any major decisions, that she often forgot she could make a choice about anything, even something as inconsequential as what to do with her hair and nails.
A few minutes later, she walked out to the stables, hoping to find Jake or Zane, because she still wasn’t ready to face the painting. And sitting around in Robert’s room only made her think about him more. She recalled the countless hours sitting on his bed or floor, doing homework, listening to music, or just talking. They weren’t allowed to be in there alone with the door closed, but they’d still managed to share a few kisses.
“Time for a little more horse therapy?” Jake asked when he saw her coming.
She smiled. “I think so.”
Ten minutes later, Jessie climbed on Honey’s back.After my ride, I’ll write what I want my future to look like.
Or maybe she’d take a nap.
Chapter 18
Jessie climbed out of her mom’s car and took in the bold purple lettering across the large front window of the salon: “In Style.” Some things never changed.
They stepped through the door, and Jessie froze.
Naomi’s salonhadchanged. It was larger than Jessie remembered, with two additional stylists’ chairs. A colorful, yet classy, sign hung in one corner touting manicures and pedicures while the other corner held signage for facials and waxing.
Naomi had expanded into the neighboring strip mall space. Try as she might, Jessie couldn’t remember what had been there. A comic bookstore? A pet store?
“Sylvia, welcome.” Naomi, as friendly and buxom as ever, greeted her mom with a quick hug. Then she turned to Jessie. “And here’s our talented little artist home from the Big Apple.” She gave Jessie a sympathetic look before pulling her into a hug.
Jessie returned Naomi’s embrace, but didn’t bother correcting her. Not only had Jessie not lived in the Big Apple for the past year, she also wasn’t sure she could call herself talented anymore.
Naomi held Jessie at arm’s length and locked gazes with her. “Home for good, I hope.”
Jessie didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what her future held. Maybe if she’d done what Emily asked her to, she’d have a clue.
She smiled and shrugged in what she hoped Naomi would interpret as a “we’ll see”gesture. Fortunately, Naomi let it go and beckoned Jessie into a salon chair.
“What’s it going to be today, sweetie?” Naomi frowned as she ran her fingers through Jessie's bleached blond hair.
Jessie felt flattered to have the owner work on her. With two other stylists to help carry the workload, Naomi was selective about whose hair she did.
“Um... I don’t know.” Jessie still hadn’t decided what to do with her hair. She kept wondering what Robert would find attractive.
Even if she knew, she shouldn’t let that guide her choice. This was about her.
At least that’s what everyone kept telling her.
“Do you want to keep it long? Or go short, like you used to wear?”
“No, not that short.” That much Jessie knew. She wouldn’t try to be the same person she was before she left Providence.
Naomi exercised incredible patience as Jessie perused a book of hairstyles. Occasionally, Naomi pointed out one style or another and commented on how they would complement Jessie’s high cheekbones, oval face, and long neck.
Finally, Jessie found the style she wanted—an A-line cut that ended midway between her chin and collarbone. Patrick hated her hair the last time she had a similar cut. After that, he’d insisted on a longer style.
“This is going to look great on you. What color are you thinking?” Naomi frowned again at her bleached locks.
“As close to my natural color as possible.” No one was forcing her to be someone else anymore, so she needed to be herself.
