Like they fit.
“Confirmed,” I say out loud. “Austen is going to Paris with Royal.”
Shit. I think the fumes in the salon have actually gotten to me.
That’s my story. Go with it.
“Who is Royal?” Betty asks immediately, reminding me of a shark circling chum.
Unfortunately, a woman in the middle of getting a dye job two chairs down speaks up. “If that’s the sexy beast who was at her beck and call at the GPP last Thursday, then she’s the luckiest girl on the planet. He was huge.”
I snort and send Austen another message.
Me: You can never come back here. They know.
Austen: I don’t care. But you didn’t answer my question.
What am I supposed to tell her? Is flying to Paris with a man she’s technically known only a few days insane? On paper, sure. But is it any more insane than falling for your straight best friend, then throwing yourself at him as soon as he gets curious and damn the consequences?
At least Austen’s crazy has a happy ending.
Me: Insane in the best possible way. Go. Drink wine, eat smelly cheese and stare at his glorious calves in Paris.
Austen: You think my calves are glorious too? I though you only loved me for my nail gun skills.
Austen: Sorry! He stole my phone. I’m going! Another Wayne bites the dust. What about you? Any news?
Me: I’ll still be here when you get back. But with shorter hair.
I put my phone away and try not to let feeling sorry for myself get in the way of my happiness for Royal and Austen.
Betty squeezes my shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”
Yep. She was definitely reading over my shoulder.
“I am,” I say with forced lightness. “Remind me to tell you how I got those two together. And then got locked in a room for an hour.”
She laughs and spins the chair around to face the mirror, unsnapping my cape with a flourish. “All done.”
Before I look, I make myself a promise. This is a fresh start. A new haircut and a new Miller Day. It’s time to grow up and face the truth about where things aren’t going with Brendan.
My handsome pilot isn’t taking me to Paris. Not that I want to go to Paris, but if I did, I’m pretty sure it would be on my own.
I was right about our lives being too different. The last few days have been a good example. I’m complaining about shelling out the money for a decent haircut and Brendan is likely at a country club having cocktails with his rich father’s investors.
To be fair, I know he doesn’t care about any of that, and for his sake I hope they can find some common ground. But either way, when it’s done he’ll go back to his carefree globetrotting life and, like I told Austen, I’ll still be here.
Didn’t you just say it was time for a new Miller Day? A fresh start?
The voice in my head is right. Maybe I’ll start saving up for a vacation instead of another house project. The house is done. Why mess with perfection?
Who are you?
I have no idea.
“Are you ever going to look in the mirror, Miller?” Thankfully Betty sounds amused instead of irritated. “I can’t gloat until you do. And I love to gloat.”
I look in the beveled glass and have the strangest desire to pinch myself. “Holy shit.”
Betty can be mean as a snake, but it’s clear she knows what she’s doing career-wise. I look like a new man. The haircut is short in the back and on the sides, the sweep in the front enhancing my natural red and gold highlights. I look more mature, despite the freckles. I don’t want to say sexy but… “This is amazing.”
“I know.” Betty is practically dancing in her heels when a smattering of applause comes from the other stylists and their clients. “He looks like a cover of GQ now, doesn’t he? I wish I’d taken a before and after picture. He was hiding so much hotness underneath that shag.”
I’m not hiding anymore.
“Betty.” Nina’s voice comes over the PA system. “I can hear you up there. Please tell GQ his appointment is in room one.”
I pull out my credit card but Betty waves it away. “You’ve already made my week, Miller. Just let me see your phone and we’ll call it even.”
I hesitantly hand her my phone, blushing when she takes a picture of me. Then she types something rapidly and hands it back with her trademark smirk.
She sent another message to Austen with my picture attached.
Me: Betty is the best.
***-***
Brendan
What is taking him so long?
I bribed the lady at the front desk to slip me into the private room before letting him know “his client” had arrived. She informed me that Miller was upstairs getting a haircut, so I was safe.