“I’m available for weddings,” she replied, meaning it quite literally—as she had no intention of leaving the salon—but then herotherpotential meaning settled in, and her face heated. He snorted a laugh, but she went on before he could say a freaking thing about her double meaning. “I’m not a real artist though, just a hairdresser.”
“Fern,” Elliott scolded, voice dropping low. “That’s not the first time you’ve implied you’re not an artist.Stop it. You’re a sculptor and a painter by other names.”
She snorted.
“You don’t think so? What makes you think doing hair and nails isn’t art? It’s functional art, sure, but that’s the best kind—at least according to me.” He held up his handmade pipe and displayed it as an example. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t paint in a different medium. You should if youwant to. But you’re an artist already, whether you're willing to admit it or not.”
The tiny crack she’d already chinked in her own insecurities widened under the force of his words. She stood from the table and cocked her head at the daybed before moving that way. “Idowant to admit it. I don’t feel like I’ve earned it.”
“You don’t have to earn it, youalready are.” Like webbing, fissures spread from that first crack, and he joined her on the mattress, sitting by her side and pressing his big warm thigh against hers.
“Thanks. I just... I never feel like I’ve done enough.”
Elliott’s boom of laughter caught her off guard, and she balked at him.
“Haven’t done enough? You’ve been a stylist for what, over eight years? You’re about to own the Big Chop. And in the past week you’ve extended your experience into ceramics—for weddings only.”
She pursed her lips, fighting a smile as that hard shell she’d built around her artistry shattered, falling away. He was right. Hell,shewas right.
She was an artist. She would be a business owner. And she was undeniably successful—by her own terms.
In the spirit of testing new things, she decided to open herself up to him, to admit her final failing, the one thing she really couldn’t change about herself and, honestly, didn’t care to.
“I don’t want more, though. That’s all plenty for me. You know what I mean? I have no interest in being some big-wig like my mom, or running a town like Ben and Liv. I mean,fuck, I don’t even own a home.”
“You like being a middle-of-the-road kind of person,” he replied, matter-of-factly.
“That makes me sound boring. Unsuccessful.”
“I know you’re not. Fern, listen...” Finding her hand, he wove his fingers through hers and squeezed. “I’m the exact same way, and it took me a while to be okay with it. A long while. The things that fulfill us may not be money and big houses or prestigious jobs... but who cares?”
It was one of those moments where, if it had been raining and earlier in the day, she’d have expected the clouds to part, the sun to shine, and angels to sing. He was right. Whocared? Her mom, maybe, but that aspect ofMom’s personality wasn’t exactly adding value to Fern’s life.
“Exactly,” she agreed, folding her knees up as she turned to face him. “All I’ve ever wanted is a cozy home with a happy family, maybe a salon of my own—because Iwantit, not because I’m trying to prove anything to anyone.”
“Understood,” he rumbled, lifting a hand to play with a lock of her hair that had escaped her bun.
Heart pounding, Fern’s mind sought out any word besides “potential.” It echoed in her brain, robbing her of the ability to continue their conversation. They aligned so fucking well, he was the embodiment of an unrealized dream. He had to see that their potential mate bond was worth moving forward, right? Or was he holding out hope for his true mate?
She fidgeted, planting her feet back on the floor.
Fuck, she wanted to fill that role. But it couldn’t be wished into existence, and according to Noa and Liv, it was exceedingly rare.
“Are you all right?” He squeezed her thigh, and she leaned closer as if magnetized. It was so easy to be pulled into the moment with Elliott, so easy to forget they were just friends with benefits and a potential bond, not a real one.
“Yeah,” she barked, hopping up and dashing in the opposite direction. “I have to pee. Be right back.”
Fern
Help
Olivia
What???
Fern
Sorry. I’m fine. In bathroom at Elliott’s
