“Great.” The receptionist clicks away on her computer, eyes scanning over the screen. “It looks like Sash—”
A squeal sounds from the girl rounding the corner of the short wall separating the front of the salon from the stations. Flicking my attention toward the girl, my eyes widening. Because standing in front of me is no girl at all. She’s a young woman, barely in her twenties. Tall, thin frame, with the same slate-blue eyes I’ve tried and failed to forget.
Gone are her tight blonde curls, but in their place is the most vibrant pink hair I’ve ever seen. It’s bold and loud, but not in an obnoxious way. Long locks flow down her front in loose curls nearly touching her waist.
“Holy shit,” she breathes out, her long strides closing the distance between us. “You’re really back.”
Before I have a chance to say anything, she flings her arms around me, pulling me in for a tight hug—one I don’t think I deserve.
When I left the farm this morning, I never imagined I’d be hugging Saylor Riggsby, Jett’s younger sister.
My arms wrap around her back, and suddenly, I’m thrust back in time. I’m fifteen again, running through the open pastures on Jett’s grandparents' farm as the chickens chase me. A tiny girl close on my heels as she laps at an ice cream drumstick that’s melting in her hands. We’re both laughing, zig-zagging through the yard, while our family watches from the back patio. It was a perfect summer evening, the sun setting, cascading oranges over the green grass as the humidity clung to our skin. Even with Saylor being eight years younger than us, I adored spending time with her. For years, she was the younger sister I never had. Until I moved to LA and we fell out of touch.
I clear my throat, swallowing the memories and my guilt. I knew being home would be hard, but I never could’ve prepared for how emotional I would be. It feels like another lifetime, but familiar all the same.
We pull back, both of us taking the other in as we stare at the decade-long changes.
“You’ve been the talk of the town—and the salon.”
I roll my eyes. “So I’ve been told. The gossip tree definitely hasn’t changed.”
Saylor chuckles. “Oh, it has. Now you can read all about it on Facebook.”
“I’ve heard all about The Bay Buzz,” I scoff. “That’s all Betty Jones needs: a public place to air her grievances.”
“She’s the worst one. The admins are constantly telling her to chill. Joe Whitley is just as bad, but the days when he and Betty go at it are the best. Between the poor grammar and pettiness, it makes for some fine reading material.”
“I can only imagine.” I huff a laugh as silence falls over us, the only sound coming from the whir of hairdryers.
Saylor’s face falls, and it kills me. “So, what can I do for you, Wren?”
I nibble around, looking at the place, suddenly feeling like I don’t belong. And it’s not Saylor’s fault; it’s my own insecurities. “I ran into Julie at Shoreline Sips, and she recommended the salon. Since I was already walking down Main, I thought I’d pop in and get on someone’s schedule. I had no idea you worked here.”
“Own it,” Saylor corrects, and my eyes widen. “Since I didn’t go to a traditional college, I used the money for school to buy the building. The guys helped me with most of the remodel.”
I don’t have to ask which guys. I know exactly who she’s talking about.
“That’s incredible. Everything is gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She beams with pride as she glances around her salon. “So, if you want to be on the schedule, does that mean you’re sticking around for a while?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “That’s the plan. It’s time to call Silo Bay home again.”
I’m sure we’re both thinking about the same thing… Jett. But before I can say anything more, like that I’m not here for her brother, her demeanor shifts.
“Well, lucky for you, I have space for a new client.”
I quirk an eyebrow, because how can she possibly have space when this is her salon? She has to be turning people away.
“C’mon, let’s see where I can put you. What are you looking to have done? I think a vibrant blue to match Julia’s would look great on you?”
My mouth flounders, unable to come up with words. Saylor snorts a laugh. “I’m kidding, Wren. Oh my gosh, you should’ve seen your face.”
I shake my head, chuckling with her.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking out of the salon with an appointment card in my hand and a smile stretched across my face. As I meander back to the stores I passed to do some shopping, I take in my surroundings.
Silo Bay may have changed, but so have I. With time, maybe I’ll find myself again and lay down some roots.
