“Are you the type of celebrity who makes your assistant pick out the red M&M’s before giving them to you?”
Bodhi wrinkled his nose. “Of course not.” From his tone, he appeared hurt by the joke. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“I was only kidding,” I backtracked. “I’m sorry. Bad joke.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.” A grin broke wide across his lips. “All M&M’s are served to me separated by color, of course.”
I smacked his chest. “Don’t do that to me. I thought you were mad.”
“It’s called acting, Breeze,” he said playfully before grabbing for more chocolate minis from my coworker’s bowl. “This candy is frickin’ amazing. How can you work here with this stuff lying around all day?”
“It’s called making a living, Bodhi.”
Ignoring my dig, he continued his exploration of the salon.
“Okay, so I know the kid ones aren’t yours and unless you have particularly bad taste in guys, which you disproved this morning,” He paused to offer a self-assured smirk. “Then this one here can’t be yours either. I give up. Which one is it?”
“The one with the roses.”
Bodhi wandered over to my station where a flower overload was underway. Pictures of the dainty blooms were pasted to my mirror and little rose trinkets littered the counter. But it was the tall vase filled with buds that caught Bodhi’s attention. He ran his fingers over the petals. “Wait, these are fake. What’s the point in that?”
Yes, they were fake roses and not even pretty ones, but they held a special meaning. These were my proposal roses, eleven in all. Before sneaking out to ask for my hand in marriage, Hugh would always swipe one rose out of the silk arrangement from the lobby of the nursing home.
The first rose had come only a week after I’d started working at the salon, well before I’d had time to decorate my station, so my coworkers took it upon themselves to help me along by bringing me rose related items for fun until the point where it looked like I was a contestant on The Bachelor television show.
My roses and I had become a running joke at work and as funny as it was, my Hugh was no laughing matter. He was sincere and loving and, like no other man before him, Hugh had chosen me… over and over and over again.
As I told the story of my suitor to Bodhi, he laughed in some spots and seemed moved by others. By the time I was finished, he was fully vested in the saga. Lingering in the same spot, he stared at the flowers.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. The story inspired me. I was writing a song in my head.”
“You write?”
Maybe there was too much surprise in the way I asked the question, but I wasn’t prepared for Bodhi’s adverse reaction. I’d unintentionally stumbled onto a sore spot… or he was still acting, I couldn’t tell. That’s how good he was.
“You don’t think I can write songs?” He cocked his head. “Why? because I’m in a boy band?”
“No. I didn’t know you wrote songs because I don’t listen to pop music.”
His irritation morphed to curiosity. “What do you listen to then?”
“Country.”
A slow smile hitched one corner of his lips. “Seriously?”
It was my turn to be defensive. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”
“No,” he said, then backtracked. “Actually, yes I do have a problem with that. You listen to country music? Really?”
“Yes, really. And by the end of our road trip, so will you.”
He chuckled. “I beg to differ. My car, my rules.”
“No. Your stolen car equals no rules. I get fifty percent of the radio play.”
He stared at me for an exaggerated minute before executing the most pathetic whine imaginable. “Breeze, don’t do this to me.”
