“You knew?”
“Of course,” she replied through a yawn. “There’s some truth in every joke.”
“I think the phrase is ‘in every lie.’”
“Eh, you know what I mean. I’m chatty. I know that.”
Rubbing slow circles over her back, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I think you’re charming. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
16
Fern thinks about community.
OnThursday,Fernawokein the arms of her sort-of boyfriend, dressed in his clothes. She thought for sure she’d be up at some awful, dark hour, ready to extract herself and drive home before sunrise. Either Elliott was too comfortable, or she was too tired, because it was nine when she looked at her phone, panicked, shimmied out from under his arm, and fled. She sent him a text on the way out, apologizing for dashing, but she needed to open the salon in an hour.
At her apartment, she tossed on the tank top she’d worn kayaking, which caused a fashion crisis when she didn’t know what to pair it with. But it smelled like him—or his detergent—and that was close enough to Elliott to make her smile. A puff of blush and a dab of lip balm later, she rushed down to Reads & Roasts for a large coffee and a bagel.
Anita, her landlord, winked when she passed over Fern’s order. “I added a shot of espresso for you, no charge.”
“Thanks.” Though she grinned and seriously appreciated the gesture, Fern fought the urge to make sure her hair wasn’t mussed and her eyes weren’t baggy. She thought she’d looked all right before leaving her place. Shehopedshe did; the day was just getting started.
The Big Chop was alive, and Donna Summer blared through the open windows. Inside, Rosalind harmonized with the Keurig, scream-singing “Hot Stuff” and swaying her jean-clad butt.
“Morning!” Fern shouted, letting the door jangle closed behind her.
Ros danced over, the short strands of her gray pixie lifting in her self-created breeze. Standing in front of Fern, she narrowed her eyes, highlighting her smile lines. “Long night?”
“I’m not late. I don’t look that bad, right?” Fern’s sneakers squeaked on the glossy wood floor as she positioned herself before a mirror. She was fine—cute even. She’d neatly rebraided her hair and put a linen shirt over her tank—inspired by Elliott. Her jeans were fresh and her sneakers... squeaky.
“You’re lookin’ like a foxy mama.”
“Jesus, Ros!”
Rosalind chuckled. “I’m just saying, if you have somewhere you need to be, I could cover for you today.”
Ros had shown up every day that week, even though she was only supposed to be there a few mornings and Saturdays. She couldn’t stay away, and as much as Fern liked her, her hackles were rising. “Is this because you wish you hadn’t hired me?”
“Baby, I didn’t hire you. I’m giving this place to you.” Ros spun, splashing coffee on the front of the desk. “Oh, shit. Let me fix that.”
Fern’s mouth fell open. “You’regivingit to me?”
Ros grinned. “That’s my plan. Was I not clear? Whoops.”
“I thought I was managing it.”
“You are, for a little while, until I’m ready to sign it over. I was thinking, a dollar for the property?” Her eyes darted around the room.
“A dollar? Ros, no.” This was nepotism at its finest, and she wasn’t even family. So, maybe it wasn’t nepotism… Charity? Was she a charity case?
“Don’t look like that, sweetie. I’ve been thinking about this a long time, and I didn’t have to know you long to know it’s the right choice.” An empathetic frown stretched her lips before it lifted into a soft smile.
Fern didn’t know how to feel: elated Ros wanted to give her the salon, thrilled at the prospect of owning a business, excited for the possibilities, the stability it would add to her life, thedreamsshe’d achieve, but terrified,all the same. What would it make her? A businesswoman or an artist? Could she balance both? Could shebeboth?
“You really can get out of here,” Ros offered again.
Snapped out of her ruminations, Fern scowled. “Why do you want me gone so badly? I thought you trusted me?”
“I don’twantyou out of here, I’m telling you I can cover the day. Figured you might have better places to be.” She tapped her nose. “You smell like the Fitzpatrick boy and sex.”
