Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(2)
Virginia doesn’t even spare me a glance. She’s used to me by now. The whole town is. When they see Emily Walker coming, they hand whatever it is they’re doing over to me and dive out of the way. Usually with a smile because they know I’ll do it in half the time and with the precision of a military special ops agent.
I finish mixing and hand the bowl over my shoulder to Virginia, who is knee-deep in speculation about what could have caused Evelyn to stray in her marriage. My next victim: the stack of messy foils on the workstation. I pre-fold each piece, handing them up one by one as Virginia paints the last of the lightener onto the front of my hair. There wasn’t much left, so thankfully she finishes quickly, and while the front processes, she spritzes water into the back foils and towels them off.
I tune out as the salon talk show moves through the lives of various town citizens, airing everyone’s dirty laundry with a bit of but it’s not my place to judge sprinkled on top just in case the good Lord is listening.
Madison, my sister just below me in age who is currently living in New York working on her culinary degree, will be angry that I’m not paying enough attention to relay all of the tasty on-dits to her later, but I’m too lost in my head, thinking of all the tasks I can get done now that I’m officially out of school for the summer and no longer have a class full of spunky—yet delightful—second-graders to teach every day. I don’t like to leave loose ends, so I cleaned out my classroom on the last day of school even though most of the other teachers will clean theirs out over the next few days. In the past I would go and help them, but I’m not allowed to anymore. They banned me after last year, saying they didn’t need a drill sergeant with a clipboard telling them how to efficiently pack up their rooms. Fair enough.
So with the school year officially behind me, I can focus on tasks closer to home:
? Help Mabel repaint the porch railing on her inn
? Finish writing the last chapter in my romance novel
? Contact the city about the pothole on Main Street
? Call Annie’s Internet provider and haggle for a lower price
The last one is more fun than chore for me. Annie, the most tenderhearted out of us four Walker siblings, mentioned the other day that she was dreading making that call, so I gleefully offered myself up as tribute. There’s nothing I love more than going head-to-head with a salesperson.
And believe it or not, I’m not the oldest sibling of our bunch. That title belongs to Noah—but part of me wonders if my parents were too sleep-deprived somewhere along the way and forgot that I was actually born first based on how laid back he is in comparison to me. Too bad my parents are dead, so I can’t ask them. Actually there’s no one I can ask about my family history now because as of November, my grandma—the woman who raised us after my parents kicked the bucket—died too. Everyone is dead. Dead, dead, dead.
And yes, I do like to throw startling little facts like those into conversation whenever I can because shock is always more preferable to pity.
The last guy I dated seemed really freaked out when I delivered the dead-parents line with a smile on my face. But these days, I’m happily single by choice. (There’s also a chance that I’m single because I’m an unlovable porcupine and got tired of the constant rejection . . . but that thought is terrifying, so I slip it inside my Metal Treasure Chest of Doom and leave it there right next to the memory of my first and only love shattering my heart.)
Virginia tips my head back into the million-year-old plastic salon sink to rinse and shampoo my hair. Rather than relaxing, I spend the entire time convincing myself my neck isn’t going to snap. And it’s not until I’m back in the salon chair and Virginia is plugging in her blow dryer that I hear the name that has me doing a mental spit take.
“Well, I’ve got my own bit of news to share. Did y’all hear about Jack Bennett?” I doubt Shirley realizes that with that one name she has successfully stopped my heart.
“The sexy teacher from the elementary school where you both work?” asks Virginia, her eyes a little too bright. They’re downright zesty.
Jack Bennett, aka my archnemesis since college who moved away four months ago, is supposed to be getting married today to a woman who I happen to think is completely wrong for him. But that’s beside any sort of relevant point.
“Yes. Well, turns out, he’s not getting married today after all. The entire wedding was canceled a few weeks after he moved away with her! How strange is that?”
My stopped heart resuscitates only so it can dramatically flatline once again.
Jack isn’t getting married today?
This can’t be true . . .
A rumor. It’s just a rumor.
But why am I hoping it’s true?
Hannah perks up and abandons all pretense of styling at this point when she angles her body toward us. “What do you think happened? It had to be something big to call off a wedding after moving away together.”
Jack. Isn’t. Married.
“I’m not sure exactly, but rumor has it that they’re not even together anymore,” says Shirley, so proud to have delivered this fresh slice of meat directly into salivating mouths. “But I know that Jack is the nicest guy, so it’s hard to believe he would have cheated or anything like that.”
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Everyone feels this way about Jack. He used to swoop in each day draped with kindness, charming smiles, perfect hair, and eclectic outfits that somehow always worked on him. He was excellent at playing the part of a Mr. Rogers wannabe. Maybe if Mr. Rogers had tattoos and was secretly a devil.