5. Priya
CHAPTER 5
PRIYA
“Hi, Preye-yaaw—did I say that right? You’ve got one of those names I’ve never actually heard out loud before.” The girl with the pink glittery phone case checks me in for my appointment. But she looks more like she should be in class right now and I feel incredibly old.
“Actually, it’s… Priya.”
“So I did say it right! Knew it. I wish I had thought of that name back when my daughter was born. It’s so classy. What did you name your kids?” She rests her chin on her hand and leans across the counter.
I swallow back my surprise at her question. “Oh, I don’t have any kids. Not yet, maybe someday. There’s still time… I think.” My biological clock thuds in my chest and the pounding brings with it a ridiculous thought of Bowen. I brush it away as soon as it arrives. This plan of ours is really getting to me. I turn the conversation back to her. “How old is your daughter?”
“Girl, I’ve got three. They’re at home with Granny right now. It’s my boyfriend’s MeMaw. She’s getting up there, but she’s still okay to help watch them. She’s gonna be forty-six this year so she’s taking on all the old lady hobbies like reading and gardening.”
My eyes widen and I try to keep them from making a full jump out of their sockets. “Wow, yeah, Granny and I would probably get along really well. I’ll just wait over here. Thanks.”
The roar of a blow dryer jolts me back to the present, slicing through the tangle of thoughts in my head as I sink into a turquoise vinyl chair by the front door. I lean back, letting the atmosphere settle over me.
For the first time in a long time, I feel an ache to call my sister. Zara would be shocked by this place, but she’d somehow know exactly how to fit in. It isn’t a talent I’ve ever had. But I came here for a change, something drastic, and Mane Event Hair Salon is a world away from the organic hair clinic I used to frequent.
With its country music blaring, this place is all cowboy chic with not a hint of shabby. Every light fixture is a full-on chandelier, and the white marble floors gleam with so much wax I can see my own reflection. Truth is, I look haggard and between the lights and the mirrors, there’s no hiding it.
The past year has worn me down in every way. I carried the weight of my breakup with Gunner alone. Loving him was never easy. Leaving him under the relentless glare of the media was even harder. And then there was my family and their expectations pressing down on me. They demanded smiles and poise even when my world was crumbling around me.
But I chose peace over privilege and I’m proud of that. I’ve fought for every smile since. Allowing Bowen in on the details of my last year lifted a weight I hadn’t realized I was still carrying. And for the first time in a long time, I feel something close to relief. I won’t let Gunner take that progress away from me by showing up now that it’s convenient for him.
Then my mind drifts to Bowen.
From the moment we met, the spark between us has only intensified, growing into something I can’t quite name but feel with every glance, every touch. I knew he was handsome from the start—that much was obvious. But, what I didn’t expect was the depth beneath the rugged charm, the quiet steadiness that lingers in his every word and action.
And then there was the way he stood beside me after my confession, unwavering, as if he had always been meant to be there. That moment did something to me. Trust has never come easily—I’ve spent too much time building walls, too much time learning the hard way that not everyone stays. But Bowen? He read me like a book, saw past my carefully crafted pages, and instead of turning away, he insisted on helping me write the next chapter.
There’s something about that—about him—that warms me to my core. Not just in a fleeting, heart-racing kind of way, but in a deep, bone-settling way that feels like a promise.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not so afraid to believe in it.
The girl behind the counter reappears. “Alright, hon, come on back. I’m gonna put you with one of our best stylists, Brynn Rose. She’ll know exactly what to do with all that hair. You’re just begging to get some country in there, ain’t you?” She runs her eyes up and down my body.
Before I can process that statement, she smooths a hand over the back of my hair. I can’t decide whether to be flattered or mildly offended.
She continues, “You know how it is— the higher the hair, the... ” She trails off, blinking at me expectantly.
I stare back at her, tilting my head with a smile and hoping the moment passes. It doesn’t. This chick is waiting for a response. Only… I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to say. It’s clear we aren’t taking another step until I speak, so I take a wild-ass guess.
“Right, the higher the hair… the more hairspray needed,” I say with conviction then hold my breath like I’m waiting to find out if I’ve passed the test.
She hesitates for a moment and then throws her head back, roaring with laughter. “Girl, you are too sweet. No— the higher the hair, the closer to heaven! ” She shakes her head, still chuckling as we round the corner to a room full of stylists, chairs, and products. “I forgot, it’s your first time at Mane Event Hair Salon. We are Sagebrush Creek’s premier beauty destination, sugar. So don’t you worry about a thing. Brynn’s gonna take real good care of you.”
I thank her as she drops me off, still in awe of what just happened. Brynn Rose appears from behind a black curtain. She looks like she walked straight off the pages of a southern charm magazine. She’s Carrie Underwood with curves… only, you know, likable.
Brynn introduces herself and I get a close-up of her flawless, radiant skin. She’s a walking glamour shot and I’m ready to buy whatever she’s selling. All I can think is, to hell with organic shampoo. If a little chemistry can make me look like her, take my money.
I have at least ten different hairstyle ideas screenshotted on my phone, but the second she touches my hair, I abandon them all. There’s an effortless authority about her that makes me trust her completely. When she asks what we’re doing today, I don’t hesitate to say whatever you want .
Brynn swivels the chair away from the mirror and gets to work without hesitation. She moves with the effortless confidence of someone who has mastered their craft, her hands a blur of precision and purpose. I settle back, certain that something extraordinary is happening.
Long strands of my hair tumble to the floor, and with a single sweep of her hand, Brynn dusts them away as if shedding the past. The rhythmic brush of the bristles against my scalp, the mist of something warm and sweet—vanilla and something else, something decadent—coaxes me into the moment. I exhale, letting her work her magic.
When the scissors disappear, her laser focus softens for the first time. I shift forward instinctively, eager for a glimpse, but Brynn presses a firm hand to my shoulder, guiding me back. I don’t resist.
“You can’t leave now—we’re just getting to the good part.” She sinks her fingers into my hair, scrunching and fluffing with playful delight. Then she leans in until her cheek almost brushes mine. “Now that we’ve lightened you up, it’s time to have some fun. We should do makeup too. You don’t mind, right?”
Before I can answer, she calls out, “Kellie Anne, bring the palettes!”
The door opens and an older woman steps inside. Brynn doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Mama. I’m gonna be a minute.”
“I didn’t come for anything. Just thought I’d stop in and see my girls.” The old woman screams even older money and she dives into a whispered conversation with the girl behind the counter.
Chaos erupts from there. Brynn turns her attention back toward me. She sprays, brushes, paints, and waxes my face. Each movement is fast and decisive. At some point, foil clings to sections of my hair, and my eyelashes feel suspiciously weighty. I haven’t dared to sneak a look in the mirror yet, but I already feel transformed.
Then, with a flourish, Brynn spins me back toward the mirror. She lifts her hands, fingers splayed in a dramatic reveal. I catch a glimpse of myself and have to do a double-take. My breath catches. I can’t believe my eyes.
I run a hand through my hair. It’s shorter, yet somehow still long and so silky. It’s high, teased, full of life and volume. I don’t look anything like my old self… and I love it. I look like I belong in Texas. I look… dare I say it? Sexy.
“So, what’s the occasion?”
Brynn Rose’s question jolts me back to the present, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I swallow against the nerves tightening in my throat. This is the moment I’ve been rehearsing all night, the one that could make or break this last-ditch Hail Mary of a plan. Forcing a smile, I lift my chin and aim for casualness.
“My boyfriend is taking me out this weekend and I want to look my best.”
Brynn’s brows shoot up, her voice hitching with surprise. “Girl, I didn’t even know you’d been here long enough to have a boyfriend. From what I heard you just started out at the ranch.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but the hum of conversation in the salon seems to stall, like the room is holding its breath.
“Well, when you know it’s right there isn’t a reason to wait.” This rolls off my tongue and I find myself smiling at the thought of Bowen fitting right into my world, even if it is just for one night.
Brynn leans in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Not trying to be nosy, but I gotta ask… Who’s the lucky guy?”
My throat goes dry. “Oh. Uh… Bowen Kingridge.”
The name lands like a record scratch. If I had any doubt that people were eavesdropping, that doubt dies a swift death. The room practically vibrates with collective shock.
“Have you met him?” My voice wobbles at the end, but no one answers.
Before I can process what’s happening, they descend on me. There are rapid whispers, sharp gasps, and the unmistakable glint of scandal in their eyes. A quick glance at the mirror confirms it. Frozen faces framed in pageant-perfect makeup stare back at me, wide-eyed and unblinking. Like the prettiest pack of wolves, I’ve ever seen.
The silence stretches long enough to make my skin prickle. Then, the first voice to break it is rich with Southern charm, laced with something sharper beneath the sugar. A bony, thin-skinned hand extends toward me, fingers adorned with bright red nails and a massive gold ring that looks heavy enough to leave an imprint.
“We haven’t met yet, sugar. I’m Brandi Rose, Brynn’s mama. If I look familiar, it’s probably because you’ve seen me on the evening news. I have covered all the local events and fundraisers since I moved back home from the big city. Spent some time filming out there, building my portfolio…”
“Yes, she made a commercial for hair dye thirty years ago and has been back ever since,” Brynn mutters, rolling her eyes.
Brandi waves a dismissive hand. The movement is elegant and practiced. It’s like she’s used to being the center of attention.
Before I can respond, another woman speaks up, her hair twisted into pink curlers that sit like a crown of gossip. “Have you heard much about the Kingridge boys? I’m sure you’ve heard the podcast, they’re on it every week. I only ask because I care.” The question lands soft, but the intent behind it isn’t.
“Right, thanks.” My spine stiffens at the sudden surge in attention and all I can think about is getting out of here. Bowen Kingridge is a walking red flag. That checks out. I’ve chosen walking red flags before… It’s how I got here in the first place.
“You know,” she continues, pressing a manicured hand to her chest as if she’s doing me a favor, “I’ve spent a whole lot of time out at that ranch, and you hear things.”
A second woman, seated under the soft hum of a dryer, nods—once, sharp, deliberate. “Yes, we all have.”
There’s an edge to her agreement, something that makes me sit up straighter and reach for the black cape around my shoulders. I can’t breathe. My fingers fumble at the clasp, desperate to remove it.
From the mirror’s reflection, I see the knowing glances exchanged, the barely contained smirks, and feel the weight of their scrutiny pressing against my back.
“Isn’t that something,” another woman muses, tilting her head like she’s examining a curious artifact. “All these girls trying to settle him down for years, and here he is, falling for an out-of-towner. You never know, I guess.”
The words land like a loaded gun on the counter, full of implications I don’t have the energy to unpack. But it’s clear that whatever connection I feel with Bowen can never go any further than our fake relationship. If these ladies are to be believed, the man is a nightmare dressed like a daydream. That isn’t something I need in my life ever again.
I stand abruptly, grabbing my bag and moving toward the register, but Brynn’s voice floats above the murmurs, cutting through the thick air.
“Good luck with him.” A pause, just long enough to make sure I hear it. “They aren’t bad guys, but they sure as hell aren’t always good either.”
The chatter continues until I get out of the front door. Even then the words follow me, sticking like the scent of hairspray. I take a steadying breath and square my shoulders, but the uneasiness doesn’t shake off so easily. Keeping my guard up is second nature, something I’ve learned to do without thinking. But with Bowen, it’s different. He has a way of slipping past my defenses, pushing them down like they were never there to begin with. And the scariest part? I let him.
I can’t afford to forget what a risk that is. Not now. Not with everyone watching. This is my life we’re talking about. But as I head toward my car the lingering warmth in my chest tells me it might already be too late.