17. Grace
seventeen
My client, Cheryl, snores lightly as I run the gua sha stone right below her cheekbones, then smooth her oval, striving to sculpt her soft tissues into the youthful shape she seeks. Her skin is dry, soaking up all the product I apply. After her service, I’ll have to remind her that a once-in-a-while facial can’t replace daily care. Even a basic moisturizer would be better than nothing.
My thoughts drift to finding a new location. Nothing will replace the easy luxury this century-old house exudes, and that’s reason to focus on growing my business. People should come to the spa for an overall experience.
No matter what happens here, I will continue interviewing new aestheticians so I can keep focus on growing my massage business. I’ll look for a place where I can have a large gathering area for bachelorettes or GNO’s. Maybe I could apply for a liquor license and serve cocktails? Now that’s an idea. I’ll ask Justin how that works. He’ll know. He created the pub in town. Maybe I’ll risk going to Lazy’s tonight?
Or maybe not.
What if Ethan goes there? And he’s bound to, right? He’s his brother.
God I’m so angry at him. What he did this morning? How dare he?
“Ow!” Cheryl says.
“Oopsie, sorry there.”
She opens one eye. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” I exclaim. “Are you? Okay? I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She closes her eyes and settles deeper on the cozy table. “I just detected… tension. No worries.”
Tension. Right. I wonder why. Although the way he had me pinned against the wall… holy crap. I clench my teeth and set the jade stone down. Taking a deep breath, I give Cheryl her hand massage, the last part of my signature ninety-minute facial. I don’t know if I’m more mortified that he found my secret box, or angry that he confronted me about it, or aroused by him.
God! He felt even better than I remembered.
His scent—pure, now that it wasn’t from the jacket he’d been wearing—hit me right below the solar plexus, like something essential, primeval, something I needed like my own breath. I inhaled all of him like my life depended on it.
The feel of his skin seared through mine, warmed me, scorched me, and I swear I can still feel it, the way his muscles tightened, the delicious way his hands closed around my wrists, the way his stubble grated the side of my face.
To sleep next to Ethan just once more and absorb, breathe in everything that is him.
Now that would be a youth serum.
“Honey?”
Startled, I open my eyes. “Yep? Other hand now.”
“We did the other hand already.”
“Oh did we now?”
I glance at the small clock on the marble mantle of the treatment room. Oh, we are way past time. I mentally go over the treatments Grace’s Signature Ninety Minute Facial includes, to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
I might be a little cuckoo and a lot in my head, but I have a business to run and I’m not jeopardizing it over some leftover teenage fantasy of Mister Hotshot.
“How do you feel?” I ask Cheryl.
She stretches on the table. “Absolutely transformed.”
And I can’t believe he was arrogant enough to want to talk again. “Hold that thought.” “This conversation is not over.”
Yessir, it is over. Been over a looong time.
God I’m such a mess of conflicted feelings.
After Cheryl leaves, I rush back to the reception area. On the way, I notice Fabrizio glancing at me as he’s cleaning up his space. Hope is giving someone a facial in our other room. Shanice comes out of the break room with a happy glint in her eye. Good. I just want alone time. “Did you locate our product?”
“I’m on it.” Claudia’s voice is assured enough that I actually relax.
“Great. I’m going to take five.” I’m about to slouch on the small couch in the break room when my eyes catch on a mug. Another cutie from Millie’s. It’s set on the little round table where I left my phone and my rings. This one has kittens on it. Shanice must have forgotten it.
Stepping out of the break room, I call toward her. “Is this yours? It’s the cutest.” I raise the travel mug to clarify my question.
She turns a deep shade and mumbles something.
My eyes catch on golden letters that I hadn’t noticed before. That handwriting. Lifting the mug to eye level, I turn it slowly to read the inscription. A heart prank…
I rush back into the break room and lean my back against the shut door, my heart beating hard against my ribcage.
A heart prank reign.
Pain twists my inside, tears spring to my eyes. Everything we shared, everything we were, was contained in that phrase, the anagram of our names, a salute to the way love took hold of our hearts and wouldn’t let go, playing pranks on us. And how we played pranks of sorts on our friends and families to be together.
A soft knock brings me back to my senses. To the present. “Grace? Are you alright?”
I lunge onto the couch. “Sure!” I call out, my voice raw. I clear my throat. “What’s up?”
The door cracks open. “Your next appointment is here,” Claudia says softly. “But she’s early. I’ll tell her to wait.” She leans deeper in the door opening. “Oh-oh.” She slides inside, closes the door after her, and sits next to me.
I take a comforting sip of the coffee, and Claudia smiles. “Good. For a minute there, we thought we’d made a mistake in letting him leave the mug here.”
She strokes my hair, then pats my thigh. “You wanna talk about it?” Claudia is older, just a few years younger than Mom. She has a tough life, with a no-good husband and two teenagers she’s raising on her own. My troubles are nothing compared to hers.
“It’s really nothing.” I shake my head. “I can’t wait for him to leave Emerald Creek,” I whisper. “It’s just too hard. A long time ago, I thought he was the love of my life. And then…” My lip trembles, so I just stop talking. After a deep breath, I add, “I just don’t ever want to see him again.”
She shifts uncomfortably on the couch. Clears her throat. “About that—”
“Hello? Anybody here?” Ethan’s low rumble messes with my core.
A female voice somewhere in the spa says something, and before I can gather myself, the door to the break room opens after an unceremonious knock on the door. “Oh, sorry,” Ethan says to me, then turning to Claudia, “Where d’you want all the stuff?”
Claudia jumps to her feet and they both leave the room as if I wasn’t even there, closing the door behind them. There’s the sound of cabinets opening and closing, boxes shuffling, stomping. I finish my coffee—it’d be a shame to let a Maple Kiss go to waste just because of Ethan—use the bathroom, and freshen my makeup for the second time today.
There. Whatever Ethan was doing here, he should be gone now. And it’s time for my next appointment.
I square my shoulders and step swiftly into the heart of the spa, the vast waiting area connecting the entrance and reception to the treatment rooms. Designed for the female customer in need of me-time, it’s a haven from everyday life, with its dimmed lighting, feminine touches, and soft music.
The baby blue, deep couch with fluffy white pillows and the softest throws is typically the seating of choice for anyone. It’s more than just inviting or relaxing; it’s luxuriously indulgent. At the moment, however, it’s empty.
My client is seated in the more rigid but still comfortable velour wingback chair, her bare feet propped on a tiny ottoman covered in faux fur. Next to her, on the smaller of three nesting tables, her organic loose-leaf tea is brewing in an artisan mug. Going by the scent wafting to me, she chose lemongrass. Good choice—though it doesn’t seem like she’s touched it.
Likewise, she’s ignoring the high-end fashion magazines carefully fanned on the higher tier of the nesting table. She’s not on her phone either.
She is, however, deeply absorbed by the observation of the built-in ornate bookshelf displaying the products for sale, located directly in front of her. Her arms wrapped around her knees, she watches in rapt attention as Ethan—Ethan!!—unpacks a box of serums.
He places them, per the instructions he’s holding in his hand and that I typed myself, two-and-a-half inches apart, staggered on the shelves, so there’s a sense of abundance yet airiness. “How does it look?” he asks Fabrizio.
His gaze jumps from Ethan’s ass to the display. He stands next to him. “Great but—shouldn’t you differentiate by type?”
“What type?”
“Serum Number One, Serum Number Two, etcetera. Then Forever Cream Number Twenty-Four, Forever Cream Number Thirty-Seven, etcetera.”
“F—okay. Lemme see.” He pours over the sheet again. “Is she gonna notice?”
“I think she already did,” Fabrizio whispers while I whip around to Claudia. “What is he doing here?” I hiss.
“He insisted.”
“But-but-but… how? Why?”
“Just keeping busy until you’re available to talk,” Ethan says, his back to me, still carefully lining product on the shelves.
My belly does a little somersault as his voice ripples over me. I turn to Claudia.
She tells me a complicated story about the delivery that got lost somewhere. Fabrizio, Hope, and Shanice being booked, Cheyenne being off, and Ethan insisting he make himself useful.
Ethan hands the last box of products to Fabrizio. “Are you available to talk now?”
The air seems to vibrate with the inquisitive glares of all who are present. It looks like they’re taking sides. And it’s pretty clear they’re Team Ethan. At least Shanice and Fabrizio are, judging by the way they cross their arms as they stare me down.
Well, I’m Team Grace. And nope. No. I am not ready to talk.
I glance at my client.
“Mallory, so nice to see you! Right this way. Let’s get you settled.” I let Mallory step in front of me and dart my eyes at Ethan.
He turns to me with a smile that does nothing to strengthen my resolve. Then he goes back to arranging the display, his stature crowding the place in a way that makes me want to go back to my bedroom, me against the wall, his knee between my...
Ohmygod, what am I doing? This has to stop.
But also? Yeah, we do need to talk.
Just not right now. And not here.