17. Dove
DOVE
“ O w,” I hissed through my teeth at the sharp sting, pulling back to glare at Reverie. She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she brandished the tweezers she was currently using to assault mine.
“Is this really necessary?” I all but whined.
She barked a humorless laugh. “Most of what us women do to look good is never necessary .” Her fingers tilted my head back into the light so she could see better. “But that doesn’t mean it’s pointless.”
As the tweezers inched closer to my face, I involuntarily screwed my eyes shut tight, waiting for the pain to come.
Reverie gave an exasperated sigh, and I flinched back at the small flick she bestowed to the center of my forehead. I cracked one eye open to peer up at her.
“Fine, you big baby.” She huffed, leaning back to cross her arms over her chest. “We can be done with that. You’re lucky you were blessed with a natural arch.”
“Hey,” I protested weakly. “I’m not into all this like you, Rev.”
“Don’t I know it,” she agreed easily. “I nearly fainted at that crusty old mascara you handed me. You should have your girl card revoked… I don’t think that brand even exists anymore.”
Honestly, she was probably right. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought makeup for myself. That tube was probably a Christmas present from my mom, back when I was dabbling in makeup as a preteen—when she still had high hopes that I’d enjoy girly things, like she did.
That was before she moved us out here and I fell in love with the country life... and a certain country boy.
Both finding a place in my heart far more than makeup ever could.
“I’m a simple girl.”
She snorted. “You can say that again. You’ve got slim pickings here… Thank god I came in clutch, huh?” She waved a hand over the bathroom sink that was littered with makeup and curling irons and other apparatuses I honestly had no idea how to use.
This was Rev’s way of fishing for praise, I knew, so I pushed off the toilet seat I’d been sitting on to hang off her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the large bathroom mirror. “Yes, Rev, thank you so much for saving me from my terribly unfeminine ways. My femininity would perish without you.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips told me she’d happily take the credit.
Nostalgia ached in my chest. I missed these days; the days of us getting ready in the bathroom after school, where Rev lamented about how decidedly un- girly I was while I watched her fuss over her appearance from the edge of the tub I perched on.
She’d always been present at the parties Josh and I had thrown, never missing one if she knew Zeke would be in attendance.
I never had much interest in it all, content to watch her preen and perfect her makeup and hair while I pulled mine up and away in a matter of seconds, face clean but bare. She always said a little effort never hurt anyone, throwing me a pointed look soothed by a playful smile.
All the extra work did turn heads, I supposed. She’d gotten the guy, after all, hadn’t she?
I guess that’s what I was trying to do now.
Get the guy .
I’d wished Josh a happy birthday in the kitchen this morning, feeling awkward with empty hands.
I had nothing to give to him—not even a card.
It’d completely slipped my mind, what with everything going on, and it wasn’t like I’d expected to celebrate his birthday.
We hadn’t for years now, not since he’d left, even if I always sent a silent birthday wish to the sky, hoping it would find him wherever he was, healthy and whole.
Wishing him a simple happy birthday this morning made me feel guilty. Made me wish for the years we’d been in high school, when my mom had made our birthdays special by baking us our favorite cakes and whipping up special dinners that ended with gifts.
I remember the first year we’d celebrated Josh’s birthday as a family.
Mom and I had handed him the present we’d picked out together after dinner, and his face had frozen in shock.
It’d taken a little shake of the box to get him to grab it, hesitant to unwrap it as if he didn’t believe it was really his.
The Hex men hadn’t been big on birthdays until we came along.
Every year after that, we made it a point to make his birthday special. Gareth’s, too, of course.
Josh’s smile this morning as I wished him a happy birthday had made my heart skip a beat.
I’d forgotten he’d gone so long without his birthday being celebrated, something I hadn’t understood until I found out it was also the anniversary of his mother’s death.
I imagined these past few years had been similar, or had he found someone in that new life of his to wish him a happy birthday?
A pang of jealously hit me harder than I expected.
Maybe all this was for nothing. Maybe he had a girlfriend waiting back home for him, friends, someone who made every day special, not just today.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about in that noggin of yours”—Reverie interrupted my spiraling thoughts—“but do it sitting down. I’m moving onto hair and makeup next.”
I obediently sat back down on the closed toilet seat, letting my friend fuss over the state of my hair.
“You’re in desperate need of a trim,” she grumbled under her breath, fluffing my hair out from where it had been pulled up into a messy bun.
I closed my eyes and let Reverie do what she did best, content to enjoy having my best friend here with me instead of thousand miles away.
Guilt stirred low in my stomach as I remembered how crestfallen Josh had looked when he’d seen Reverie pull up earlier.
Chores and work didn’t stop on a farm, not even for birthdays, but he’d causally mentioned going out with Eddie afterward.
He’d also reminded me that the invitation extended to me if I wanted to come.
That last part had been accompanied with a voice that hinted it would be great if I did, but I wasn’t obligated to.
There was nothing more I wanted than to tell him I was going. But I played it cool, hearing Reverie crystal clear in my head, coaching me. Sometimes you had to play a little, leave them guessing, intrigue them. She’d texted earlier in the day with orders to keep her updated on all things Josh.
When I messaged her about his plans, I was instructed, under no circumstances, to agree to going out.
Keep him on his toes!! her text had read. Typical Reverie.
Keep him on his toes…
Her text had come while we’d been halfway through grooming the horses. I’d sighed heavily, watching as Josh guided Clover out to pasture with a lazy, coaxing smile on his face. Josh wasn’t one of Rev’s LA hookups. The rules of the game were drastically different out here in the sticks.
The only response I’d gotten back when I’d sent her that was:
Babe, men are men. Doesn’t matter where they live.
So… evading his invitation it was, then.
But his disappointment was still superimposed on the back of my eyelids as he’d watched her pull up to the house, and I could still hear the forced casualness of his voice as he watched Rev park.
“What are you two up to tonight?” he asked, eyes on Rev as she stepped out and slammed the door behind her.
“Girl stuff,” I answered vaguely, stomach cramping with the lie. No, not lie. Half-truth. We were doing girl stuff.
He’d accepted my answer without comment, but the warmth on his face had taken on an icy edge, like summer days giving way to frigid nights, and his jaw tensed as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
A little while later, he’d come down the stairs, freshly showered and looking too handsome for words in straight leg jeans and a dark navy button-down with the top few buttons undone.
He’d eyed Rev and I chilling casually on the couch.
We were waiting for him to leave, of course, so Reverie could haul in the calvary.
“Have fun,” he wished us simply before he left, snagging his keys off the hook and slipping out the front door.
Reverie’s eyes twinkled dangerously the moment it closed behind him. “Oh, this is going to be fun . Did you see that boy’s face?” She sounded damn near gleeful. “You’ll get him, hook, line, and sinker.”
Hook, line, and sinker, I repeated to myself now, as Reverie applied mascara to my lashes and gloss to my lips.
She hadn’t let me look in the mirror since she started with my hair, but we were almost done. All we had left was the outfit, which she vehemently told me she was picking.
Lord help me.
“There.” She leaned back against the counter to scrutinize her work, blocking my view of myself in the mirror. “I think that’s good enough. Subtle but still enough to wow him. Girl, your lashes make me jealous ,” she whined enviously. “People pay good money for that kind of length, you know.”
I honestly didn’t. But I imagined there wasn’t much you couldn’t pay for in a place like LA.
“Am I allowed to look?” I teased. “Or are you afraid I’m going to run away screaming the moment I do?”
She scoffed. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
A second later, her voice took on an exaggerated accent as she exclaimed, “Reverie is exhausted. Only Reverie could take this”— she gestured to all of me —“ and give you…” She slid from in front of me, extending her arm out to the mirror for me to look, “… a hot-ass bitch.”
“You’re a dork,” I told her seriously, but the reference to one of our favorite movies when we’d been younger had a smile tugging at my sticky, shiny lips.
I rose, my legs tingling as blood rushed back after sitting so long, and nearly fell when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
My hands found the counter and curled over its edge, mouth dropping open in shock.
“It’s almost like I do this for a living, huh?”