BECCA
The bell above theSoluna Atelierchimes softly as I step inside, and for a second, I just stand there. It smells like eucalyptus and something floral; clean, and definitely expensive. Not the overly sweet, headache-inducing kind. Thoughtful, intentional, and planned. Which, to be fair … Holly did. A sense of respect fills me at the little details she focused on to pull this off.
The space is nothing like it used to be. Gone are the outdated beige and harsh lighting. Now it’s soft neutrals, warm wood, touches of green tucked into every corner like the place is trying to breathe on its own. There’s a small shelf near the front with locally made products, a handwritten sign propped up beside it.
Botanical, sustainable, Cascadia-grown.
I can’t help it. I smile.
“She did good,” Nessa says beside me, already halfway to the drink station they’ve set up in the corner. “Like … annoyingly good.”
“She really did,” I say. And I mean it. Nessa is in a printed wrap dress with earrings down to her shoulders,while Mack is in a light blue sheath dress, and Phoenix is in a neat blazer like she came from work and will be returning shortly.
Mack lets out a low whistle, taking it all in. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I had doubts. But this? This is legit.”
“Say that louder,” Nessa calls over her shoulder. “Preferably near Holly so she can hear you and cry.”
“I’m not trying to make her cry,” Mack says, though she’s smiling.
“That’s because you’re emotionally responsible,” Nessa shoots back. “I am not.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I glance around again. There’s a quiet kind of pride sitting in my chest that isn’t mine, but close enough to feel it second-hand.
Near the back, I spot Bennet snagging some appetizers from the refreshment table, his eyes following Holly as she walks by. Bennet casually looks over, saying something to Holly in passing. She laughs, genuine and unguarded, while a small blush forms on her cheeks as she spots me.
“Becs!” She smiles and heads over.
Holly saunters over, looking … different. Not physically different in any dramatic way. But there’s something steadier about her, more confident, less bubbly-forced. She's in a soft cream linen set, dark hair down, wearing the salon's logo on a small pin at her lapel like she earned it.
“Hey.” I step toward her. “This is incredible.”
Her shoulders lift slightly, like she’s trying not to make a big deal out of it.
“Thanks,” she says. “I mean—there’s still stuff to figure out: scheduling, inventory, all of that. But … It’s open.”
“You did it,” I say simply.
You can see the moment she lets herself believe that. A smile she can’t contain blooms across her face.
“Yeah,” she says, softer now. “I did.”
I look around and see Lucinda standing near the front, going over schedules with Mandy. She's not behind the desk, not running anything, only working exactly where she belongs.
Holly follows my gaze. “She’s on a probationary contract,” she says quietly. “Strict boundaries. I rescinded her original offer.” Holly pauses, quieter now, glancing briefly toward Mandy. "She has other conditions of employment as well. One is regular attendance … a certain type of meeting. Non-negotiable."
I don't ask what kind of meeting, I don't need to.
Holly's expression softens for just a second, not into weakness, but into something that looks like love for someone you have had to stop carrying.
"She's my best friend," she admits in a tender voice. "That doesn't go away. But it also doesn't mean I can keep pretending I don't see what I see." Holly sighs before continuing, “But she still decided to come back, even with those conditions, needing the job. Plus, I needed the help, and it was short notice.”
The change in Holly’s behavior toward Mandy shows the kind of growth and maturity that isn't easy but earned. Mandy looks the part of a salon employee now, but for once, she doesn’t feel like the center of the room. Holly does, and that’s new.
Behind us, we hear a quiet “excuse me” and the gentle clink of glasses.
“Drinks!” Nessa announces, appearing out of nowhere with a tray. “Because nothing says ‘responsible business opening’ like day drinking.”
“Please don’t get her shut down on day one,” I say, taking a glass anyway.
