Chapter 6 Zoey
Zoey
The hot towel hits the back of my neck and I make a sound that I haven't made in years.
"Oh my God."
Debbie grins at me in the mirror, her blonde hair and hot pink highlights catching the Hollywood-vanity lighting that lines every station inside the salon.
"Yep. That's what they all say, honey."
I sink deeper into the styling chair, letting the heat radiate down through my shoulders and into parts of my body that haven't unclenched since I gave birth ten years ago.
The entire salon smells like a spa had a baby with a candy store. Warm vanilla from the candles, sharp mint from the scalp treatment Debbie used on me an hour ago.
I can still taste the subtle sweetness of the champagne Debbie cracked open within three minutes of me walking through the door.
Not the regular champagne. The secret champagne Colt mentioned.
I'm on my second glass now, and Debbie lifts the towel, running her fingers through my freshly trimmed hair, fanning it across my shoulders.
"Well?" She tilts her head, studying me in the mirror. "What do you think?"
I stare at my reflection.
She didn't do anything dramatic. Just cleaned up the ends, added some layers that make my hair fall in a way it hasn't in years, and… Okay, the blowout might be a little dramatic, but in the best possible way.
My hair is actually shining.
And not the greasy ponytail shine I've been rocking for a decade.
"Wow. I look like a person," I say, genuinely stunned.
"Honey, you look gorgeous." Debbie squeezes my shoulders and smiles. "Now, what are we doing with those nails?"
She helps me toward the manicure station, and I settle into the plush chair, extending my hands across the padded rest.
Debbie takes one look at my fingers and purses her lips.
"Lord have mercy. These cuticles have been through a war."
"I knead dough for a living, Debbie. My nails aren't exactly a priority."
"Well, they are tonight." She starts working, filing and buffing while I try to remember the last time anyone touched my hands for a reason that wasn't handing me change.
I lean back, watching her work. "Don't be too fussy, okay? They'll only have dough dried beneath them by tomorrow morning."
Debbie shakes her head.
"Absolutely not. I'm giving you a shimmer. It's called 'Barely There Blush.' It will give you the kind of nails that say 'I have my life together.'"
"So, false advertising."
"The best kind of false advertising." She winks at me over her bright pink glasses. "You know, half the women in this town would kill for a full treatment evening at my station. Most of them have to book three months in advance for this, you know."
"And yet I didn't even book this.".
"Exactly. Colt Lane arranged this," she says, way too casually. "And that, sweetheart, is something else the women in this town would kill for."
I shift in my chair. "It's not — he's just the Leopards ambassador. For the partnership thing. He's just being nice."
"Mmhmm." Debbie hums a sound of disbelief and returns to my cuticles.
Before she can interrogate me further, the salon door bursts open and a blast of cold mountain air sweeps through, carrying with it two very familiar voices.
"—I'm just saying, if I don't get an espresso martini in the next twenty minutes, my art students might actually die tomorrow."
Avery Larkins tumbles through the door first, her cheeks pink from the cold. She's wrapped in an oversized vintage cardigan that's somehow both hideous and adorable, and Quinn Reyes follows behind her, all black leather against the salon's aggressive pinkness.
"You've been teaching for six weeks, Avery. You were sober for five of them. Just give it a chance."
Behind them, moving to hover in the doorway like two massive, confused bodyguards, are Samuel Voss and Gabe Devereaux.
Samuel's ducking as if the doorframe might not accommodate his shoulders and Gabe is just… there. Taking up the entire entrance like a human wall.
"Baby, we're not coming in," Samuel says to Avery, one hand braced on the doorframe. "We said we'd walk you."
"We said we'd carry their bags," Gabe corrects, holding up two shopping bags that are bursting at the seams.
Quinn spins around and rises on her toes to press a kiss to Gabe's jaw.
"Are you sure you can get your nails done in twenty minutes?" Samuel asks Avery, checking his watch. "Dinner reservation's at eight, remember? Plus, Debbie looks busy."
He jerks his head over to where Debbie is still working on my nails.
Avery follows Samuel's gaze and spots me. "ZOEY?!"
"Oh no."
She launches across the salon like a guided missile, nearly taking out a display of hair products before skidding to a stop in front of my chair.
"Oh my God, your hair!" She grabs a strand, holding it up to the light. "Debbie, you're a genius! She looks incredible."
Quinn appears at Avery's shoulder, arms crossed, head tilted. "Well, well. Morrison cleans up."
"Don't act so surprised," I mutter, feeling the blush warm my cheeks.
Quinn drops into the empty styling chair beside me and spins it to face me. "So… Care to explain how you managed to escape the bakery and the child without telling us? We've just been shopping. If we'd have known, you could have come! So spill. Did you finally snap and sell Morgan to the circus?"
"Morgan's with—" I hesitate, and dammit, both of them catch it immediately.
"Morgan's with who?" Avery asks slowly, leaning in closer.
"With… Colt."
Quinn makes a sound that can only be described as unholy.
"COLT LANE is babysitting your daughter right now?!" She whips around to face the doorway where Samuel and Gabe are still lingering. "Did you hear that, Gabe?! Lane is on kid duty!"
Gabe's chest bounces with a silent laugh. Samuel's eyebrow lifts with curiosity.
Quinn spins back to me, gleeful. "And who arranged this little spa evening?"
I stare at my half-finished nails. "… also Colt."
Avery claps both hands over her mouth and she does a little bounce on the spot. Her green eyes are enormous above her paint-stained fingers.
"Zoey Morrison," she whispers, like she's witnessing a miracle. "That man orchestrated an entire self-care evening for you?"
"It's not a big deal—"
"It's a HUGE deal!" Avery grabs my arm and shakes me. "Look, I wish I could stay and talk, but we've got a reservation and two large men slowly losing the will to live in that doorway." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "Aves, let's go. Espresso martini awaits."
Avery hops up, pressing a kiss to the top of my freshly styled head. "You look beautiful, Zo. Enjoy every second of this, okay? You deserve it."
"And don't think that we're done with this conversation! We want all the gossip!" Quinn sings out, looping her arm through Gabe's.
They sweep out in a whirlwind of laughter, collecting their hockey-player escorts from the entrance.
The salon door clicks shut, and Debbie resumes my nails in silence. I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My hair does look incredible. And my skin looks rejuvenated from whatever miracle mask Debbie applied earlier. Even my eyes look brighter, alive in a way I haven't seen in the mirror for… I can't even remember.
When was the last time I felt pretty?
"All done, gorgeous." Debbie blows gently across my nails, then sets my hands down. "Barely There Blush applied perfectly."
I look down at my fingers. They're literally shimmering.
"Debbie, this has been…" I shake my head, blinking hard. "Thank you. Really."
She waves me off as she tidies her station.
"Just make sure you thank that boy properly," she says. "Your friends are right, you know. He's spared no expense for his girl today."
"His girl?" My voice comes out a squeak.
Debbie winks, leaning in. "Honey, when a man orchestrates a whole evening like this, there’s usually a thank-you expected. A... shall we say… hands-on thank-you."
"Debbie!" My cheeks burn.
She just laughs. "Go on, then. See if he’s been a good boy and finished his chores."
His girl?
The words land somewhere low in my belly, warm and dangerous. I throw back the last drop of champagne and nearly choke on it.
But as I stand to leave, my traitorous brain is already conjuring images of Colt's hands on my waist, the delicious heat of him pressed against my back.
I remember the way he leaned in right before Debbie interrupted us on the sidewalk. I could feel his breath on my lips and all I wanted to do was taste him.
Could that really happen? Could I really kiss Colt Lane?
Debbie holds my gaze like she knows what she's done, then smiles and waves her leopard-print nails toward the door. "Go on, honey. Get home to your daughter. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon, dear."
I head outside, and start walking back to Butter Batch feeling like a new woman. The cold air bites at my freshly moisturized face, and my hair bounces against my shoulders as I hurry down the cobblestone sidewalk.
Frost Café is closed, and down the street I can see The Leopard Lounge glowing purple and alive with evening action. All around the town, the mountains rise dark against the stars, and despite Debbie's intentions, suddenly all I can think about is Morgan's bedtime.
And whether Colt remembered the vanilla extract at the supply store.
And isn't that the story of my life? I take a few hours for myself, then feel so guilty that I instantly force myself to pivot straight back into Mom-Mode.
I eventually come to a stop, and through the front window of my bakery, I can see Colt and Morgan sitting at the window table.
Morgan is perched on her knees, leaning across the table with playing cards fanned in both hands. Her braids are lopsided, which means she probably pulled out the elastics herself, and there's what looks like pizza sauce on her chin.
Colt sits across from her, his big frame folded onto one of my vintage chairs that looks comically small beneath him. His sleeves are pushed up again—God, always with the sleeves—and I can see the flex of his forearms as he shuffles the deck.
Between them sits an empty pizza box and two empty glasses.
They're laughing.