17. Cassandra
CASSANDRA
“ Y ou’re up early,” Christian said with a raised eyebrow as he zipped up a lunchbox that was speckled with daisies.
I stole the coffee pot out from the machine and dumped the remnants into a mug. “I need to go into town.”
Christian was taking his girls to school this morning because he had to go do something farm-y, and I was going to hitch a ride.
He paused, trapping me between his chest and the corner of the kitchen counters when I replaced the coffee pot. “Don’t take this the wrong way?—”
I smirked over the lip of my mug. “Famous last words.”
“But you’re going into town like that?”
I knew exactly what he was getting at. My hair was tied in a low chignon, and I didn’t have a speck of makeup on.
“I’m going to the hair salon.” The coffee was warm and fortifying. “When you’re going behind enemy lines, it’s best to wear a disguise.”
“Ah. That reconnaissance you were talking about. What are the silver beehives saying these days?”
I laughed under my breath. “That’s for me to know and for you to accept when I give you my ranch revitalization plan.”
He reached out, looped a loose tendril of hair around his finger, and grazed my cheek. “You’re gonna let a legally blind seventy-year-old with a pair of scissors touch this?”
I studied the way his beard hid most of his mouth. The way silver streaked the strands of hair by his temples.
“I’m going to let her wash it, style it, and talk my ear off. Then I’ll go next door to the cosmetics store and sit still while an employee makes me look like a 90s country music star.”
His laugh was low and full of amusement. “You know, I always had a thing for Faith Hill.” He reached over and zipped up the second lunchbox, never taking his eyes off me. “But just for the record—” he paused with his mouth beside my ear. “I like your freckles.”
I pressed a hand to my cheek when he disappeared to make sure the girls were getting ready. I had been out in the sun a little more than usual and it had made my freckles come out.
Usually I kept them hidden beneath a full face of makeup, but I had been toning it down.
No one saw me around here. I was basically in witness protection. What was the point in wearing makeup?
But Christian liked my freckles…
I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t want butterflies. I didn’t need butterflies.
Christian Griffith was a lot of things, but he wasn’t my type.
“You’re coming with us?” Gracie blurted out the moment her sneakers hit the landing. “Best. Morning. Ever.”
Bree came down shortly after, grabbed one of the breakfast tacos Christian had wrapped up in aluminum foil, and took a hearty bite.
Her breezy white skirt stopped at her knees. The turquoise shirt she was in brought out her eyes and made her skin warm. The old Chuck Taylors with permanent marker scribbles on the toes were timeless.
“Is that what you’re wearing to school?” I asked over the last sip of coffee.
Bree looked down. “Is it okay?”
I recognized each of the pieces from the fashion show I was forced to endure the night before, but she had paired them with other garments. This was a more curated version of Bree and it made her glow.
“You look like a great version of yourself.” I tapped my thumb against the coffee mug. “Hold on.”
I disappeared into the guest room and rummaged around until I found what I was looking for.
Bree was watching curiously as she finished her breakfast.
I let the gold necklace dangle from my fingertips. The charm was a looping gold bow. It was dainty and feminine and perfect for her.
“Pull your hair back,” I said as I unclasped it and looped it around her neck.
“This is probably really expensive,” she said softly. “I don’t want to break it or lose it or something.”
“I wouldn’t let you wear it if I thought you wouldn’t take care of it.” I fastened the necklace and smoothed her hair down. “Square necklines need a little something extra. And it’ll make you hold your head high.”
Bree threw her arms around me and squeezed.
“Okay, okay—” I shooed her away as my throat prickled. “That’s unnecessary. It’s just jewelry.”
A male throat cleared behind me. “Everything okay here?” Christian asked.
“Daddy, look!” Bree beamed as she looked up and held out the charm.
Christian looked a little sad as he smiled back at her. “You look great, baby girl.”
We piled into the truck and set off on the bumpy drive off the ranch. When we got to the girls’ school, I avoided eye contact with the teachers who were overseeing the drop-off line, but they didn’t avoid eye contact with me.
“They’re just mad you’re here because all the teachers and moms want to date dad,” Gracie informed me, to Christian’s utter dismay.
He tried his best to regain his composure. “Love you, Gracie. Love you, Bree. Have a good day.”
I kept my laughter in until we were safely away from prying eyes. “I had no idea I was in the company of such a hot commodity.”
Christian grunted. “I’m not a commodity. It’s just slim pickings around here.”
“Is that why you haven’t remarried?” I asked, seizing the opportunity.
But he decided to avoid the question altogether. “Let’s just get you to the beauty parlor so you can look like Dolly. I’ve got shit to do.”
We rode silently to the little downtown strip. Christian pulled into a space and gave me the speech I imagine he had prepared for when he dropped his kids off on their own.
Call me if you need anything. Let me know if you go anywhere else. I’ll be back in a few hours. Do you have your phone? Your wallet?
I wasn’t certain he could turn off the “dad mode.”
I slid out of the passenger’s seat as he opened the door and ushered me onto the sidewalk. “Sure you’ll be alright?”
I laughed. “What’s the worst that could happen here? Barney Fife will arrest me for jaywalking?”
He cracked a smile. “Alright, smart ass. See you in a bit.”
I pretended to walk down to the beauty parlor while Christian drove off, then scurried over to the standalone mail collection box. I pulled a thick, white envelope out of my purse, double-checked the address, and dropped it in the slot without so much as a breath of reflection.
It was over.
And I wasn’t sad.
I was relieved.
Why wasn’t I sad again?
I mused on it as I pushed open the door to the hair salon and was assaulted by the smell of perm solution and hairspray.
I chewed on my nail as my hair was shampooed and conditioned. I worked it over and over in my mind as I sat under the dryer, half-eavesdropping on the two moms in the chairs beside me.
The writing had been on the wall for a long time. So why had I stayed with him?
I put my ex- fiancé out of my mind and focused on the conversation that was going on between the stylists.
When I worked for Hollywood’s annoying elite, I’d take the temperature of the public by—well—snooping.
Go to the places where people simply talk for the sake of talking.
My nails were always done, my hair was always flawless, and I always lingered a little longer than necessary when picking up my morning coffee.
Small towns were no different.
Want the good gossip? Find a hair stylist.
“Alright, fancy,” Amanda said as she whisked away the cape. She was a peppy thirty-something hairdresser who stepped in and saved me from a beehive done by the elderly owner.
“You’re all done.”
I waved away the fog of Aqua Net and studied my reflection in the mirror. To my surprise, it wasn’t giving entertainer of the year. My brassy blonde hair had been toned in the shampoo bowl. She had given me smooth, old Hollywood waves. It was vintage and soft, but still savage.
“Now,” Amanda said as she looped her arm in mine and waltzed toward the front desk to check me out. “Go next door and get gussied up. Dab on some perfume samples if you don’t have any in your pocketbook.”
I lifted an eyebrow as she ran my card. “How did you know I was going over there?”
She snickered and nudged her glasses up with her knuckle. “Honey, you don’t honestly believe Christian Griffith can drop a woman off at my salon without an audience, do you?”
I added a tip to the receipt and handed it over. “Is this a regular occurrence?”
She gasped. “Heavens, no. That’s why we’ve gotta get this one right. Now hurry on. You don’t want him to catch you with half of a face on. Also, you need a trim. Next time he lets you off that ranch, give me a ring.”
Amanda practically shoved me out onto the sidewalk, where someone else grabbed my arm and dragged me into Blush & Bashful.
The entire store was a nauseating shade of pink that made me think of diarrhea medicine.
I was nearly body-slammed by a woman in her sixties. She had bangs bigger than Mount Rushmore, eyeshadow that was the color of the blue liquid they use in pad commercials instead of just showing blood, and coral lipstick that was all over her teeth.
“Absolutely not, Nadine. Hands off the blonde.”
Nadine stumbled back as a girl no older than eighteen or nineteen wedged in front of her.
She blew a pink bubble of chewing gum and let it pop before snapping it and chomping down again. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her give you the realtor special. Your bone structure is too good to make you look like you sell houses and pyramid scheme crap between PTA meetings and lunch with the ladies.”
I blinked, taking her in. “Uh, thanks?” Looking around, I realized that no one else was coming to my rescue.
I gave the girl another assessment, starting with her black combat boots and moving up the ripped fishnets to the black miniskirt adorned with chains.
She was wearing a Michael Jackson glove, a button-up shirt and vest duo complete with a necktie, charcoal black lipstick, and the heaviest smokey eye I had ever seen.
She tucked her jet black shag behind her ears, showing off a row of piercings.
“I think I’ll be just fine on my own,” I said magnanimously.
The girl snapped her gum. “You touch my makeup samples and I’ll kick you to the curb.”