Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Margo sits at the bistro table in the front section of Once Upon a Romance while Gracie makes us each tea. I’m more of a double espresso drinker, but am still new here, so I don’t want to turn down the loose-leaf potion she’s concocting.
Pumpkins of various sizes fill the display window along with flossy spider webs and floating plastic bats.
Artificial candles and leaves, along with an assortment of spooky romances, stock the sill.
Fall garlands drape along the bookshelves and there’s a stack of books with yellow, orange, and white spines next to a bowl of candy corn on the checkout counter.
She tells us about the town’s trick-or-treating event coming soon, where shopkeepers are welcome to pass out candy as well as encouraged to dress up their storefronts for an extra splash of festivity.
“Last year, Mr. Skelebones and I passed out candy.” She gestures to a skeleton wearing glasses and reading a vampire romance.
I look forward to decking out the salon for different holidays.
“Things are looking great across the street,” Margo says.
“Yeah, but my business plan did not include having the Cruz family do the build-out for my hair salon.”
“And that’s a problem because ...?”
“It means Miguel is back in my life. And I’m pretty sure I’m still in love with him. Stubbornly in love with him,” I blurt before slapping my hand to my mouth.
Margo throws herself back in the chair, arms slack, and stares at the ceiling.
“Thank goodness. I was waiting for someone to say something about you wearing his jersey, blowing him a kiss, and then the post-win kiss. That was something. It shocked the room to silence. Well, just because I know a bit about your history, but still.”
“I was caught up in the moment. It turned into an unintended test to see if I’m still in love with him.”
The results: Yes, yes, I am. At least his lips.
And his shoulders.
The dimple in his chin.
The low rumble of his voice.
As if she misses her husband already, Gracie points out, “He’s part-time back in your life. The season has started and they’ve had a lot of away games.”
Margo sighs in agreement.
“I also wanted to slow my city-pace hustle to more of a bucolic countryside roll.” It’s already October and the old, worn-out hair tie within me feels like it’s going to snap.
Margo laughs. “Relatable.”
Gracie brings us tea on a tray, which is so cute and quaint that it makes my hardened urban heart soften. “Juniper, you’re sitting here with us, in a bookstore, sipping tea, so I’d say achievement unlocked.”
I scrunch up my face because the sweetest and gentlest human on the planet just called me out without so much as raising her voice. I come from a loud family that isn’t afraid to use volume to make a point.
“The A-2 Carpentry Crew has been working long hours, bringing my vision to life—as modified by my mother and Mrs. Cruz, but still.” Yes, I’m conducting a gripe session.
“The ceiling is repaired, the floor is tiled, the stylist stations are constructed, the paint and wallpaper are up, along with the mirrors, and—” Margo says as if still not seeing the issue.
“It’s getting real.” Gracie taps the air, hitting the nail on the head.
“Exactly. I’m going to have to manage employees, build my clientele, and operate a business.”
On the upside, there haven’t been any more calamities apart from the bowling ball—must’ve been a fluke.
She looks around. “It’s a lot of work, but think of it as a labor of love. Plus, you get to call the shots. If you want to be open on a Monday instead of closed, which seems to be customary for salons, that’s your prerogative.”
“My mother would never let me work on Sunday, but I hadn’t thought of that.”
“But you have crafted a no-fail business plan, completed all the steps to make the salon official and legal in the state of Nebraska, and found a way to bring your vision together with your mom’s old-world inspiration,” Margo says, having heard that saga and hyping me up.
“But then there’s her. Part of moving here was to break her out of her funk.”
“Mission accomplished,” both women say at the same time, having had more than one close encounter with the dynamo Guiliana Popovik has become ... the same one she used to be.
“She’s swung so far in the other direction, I have whiplash.
She started a Cobbiton canasta club, has weekly cook-offs with Carlotta, and is taking her salon assistant role very seriously.
She keeps sending me links to salon sites with suggestions for towel vendors, comb suppliers, and is in talks with an all-natural hair mask maker.
I wasn’t aware she knew how to use the internet, never mind forward me website links. ”
They laugh.
“It’s not funny. I also have to plan the grand opening.”
Margo says, “These seem like reasonably good problems to have and you can leave that last one to me.”
“Thank you, but there’s also Erica and Shane’s wedding. It’s exactly a month away. The caterer and cake contracts are signed. The best man said he’s handling the music and the DJ. I offered to order the flowers. That just leaves favors, and—”
Margo raises her hand as if we’re in class. “And we’re your friends. Here to help.”
Gracie nods and sets her arm on mine and takes a deep breath. Again, without words, she’s reminding me to breathe. To catch my breath.
“So, as I was saying about the favors—”
“Have you ever heard of Candlegram?” Margo tells me about the small business and Gracie shows me a custom one she had made for the bookstore called “Romantiscent.”
I tip my head from side to side. “I like it. Could work, but I’ll have to ask Miguel.”
They exchange a knowing glance, which I do my best to ignore, especially the way I get all toasty inside when I say his name.
“Side note: he keeps asking me to cat-sit Purr-t Reynolds.”
Margo nearly splutters her tea all over the table. “He named his cat—?”
Gracie politely covers her mouth and smiles.
“Technically, the cat is named Burt Reynolds. I refuse to call him Burt. Humans get human names. Cats get cat names.”
“Which brings us to what I think the real issue is ... Mikey—” Margo starts.
Not going to lie, I haven’t forgotten him for one hour, never mind one day and he is the issue because I want his pinky in mine, his arms around me, our lips pressed together.
“He’s reinserted himself in my life and that’s not a bad thing. It’s proving to be a very good thing, but I don’t know how I feel about it because we can only kick the can so far down the road before we have to ...” I trail off as I follow Gracie’s gaze out the window.
I’ve been watching the workers come and go from the salon today, but they’re at the sandwich shop on Main Street for lunch. Right now, smoke filters through one of the salon’s windows, and someone races down the block.
Margo says, “That cannot be good.”
Gracie calls the fire department.
I rush outside. Conventional wisdom says to run away from a burning building, but the salon is my baby. Only, when I reach the other side of the street, I don’t smell smoke even though it fills the windows. There aren’t flames or heat.
Still, I step back in case it’s a chemical leak or something like that.
The familiar sound of sirens fills the air less than a minute later and soon the fire engine is on the scene as men in uniform bustle around.
Then I hear laughter.
The engineer approaches me and says, “Miss Popovik, you’re the salon owner, right?”
I nod, bracing for the worst.
“It seems someone has played a prank on you.”
Two men approach, toting a machine. It puffs one last gust of smoke.
He explains that someone set up a smoke machine in the shop. “Like the kind for Halloween. Did you arrange to have your salon decorated or—”
“Someone played a prank on me?”
“It would seem so.”
“Do you have any enemies or—?”
I shake my head slowly. Miguel wouldn’t have done something like this, not after our kiss and our conversation. I’m quite sure he wants to patch things up, and even though he’s a jokester, he wouldn’t sink this low.
“Mr. Cruz said he saw someone leaving one night early on, before we had our permit, when he’d stopped by to take some measurements.”
Margo says, “Maybe the building owner was taking one last walk-through.”
“There was also the ceiling cave-in shortly after that,” I add.
“These buildings see a heavy snow load in the winter. Plus high winds and storms,” Gracie adds, shuddering, likely recalling having to take shelter during a tornado not long ago.
The fireman says it’s a good thing they didn’t open up the hoses because all our hard work would’ve been ruined.
My insides freeze. Could someone be trying to sabotage me? Who? Why? I glance around but don’t see anything—or anyone—suspicious except Mr. Skelebones, who’s now in the bookstore’s window as if watching the hubbub.
I thank the fire crew and tell them I’ll be in touch if anything else happens.
A van slides behind the fire truck in the loading zone. Referring to a local florist, Margo says, “I think that’s the Love Blooms delivery van.”
“I hired them to do the flowers for the wedding. I hope Taylor didn’t get the dates mixed up.” Still in a panic, I rush over.
Margo adds, “Or locations.”
She and Gracie follow and I wave to the driver.
She holds a massive bouquet of ranunculus interspersed with anemone and hellebore. “Are you Junie Popovik?”
“Juniper,” I correct.
“Says here to deliver these to Junie Popovik.” She checks her clipboard, looks at the address, and then at me.
Margo breezes by me and takes the flower arrangement from her hands. “Thanks, Taylor. Junie appreciates the delivery.”
Gracie points to a card nestled between the flowers. “Looks like there’s a note.”
The fire captain talks to Mr. Cruz and the other guys who have just returned from their lunch break. While the A-2 Carpentry Crew resumes work at the salon, wrapping up the bathroom—bless them because that was nasty—we go inside, doing our best to keep out of their way.
Margo sets the flowers down on the counter.
“They’re beautiful,” Gracie says, inhaling their scent.
They’re the same flowers Miguel and I picked for our wedding. Which, let it be known, were not the red roses, white irises, and green ivy to match the Italian flag Momzilla and Queen Kong selected—though, those would be nice for a winter wedding.
I recall Miguel’s inquiry into Margo’s event planning availability. Does he really want to try again? Do I? I think the answer to both questions is yes, but I’m afraid. What if we fail a second time?
“Read the card,” Margo says, thrusting it at me and drawing me from my thoughts.
On the front, it says, Junie.
I unfold the thick paper. All it says is, From Mr. Sensational.
Margo reads over my shoulder. “You have a secret admirer.”
Gracie claps her hands together under her chin. “How romantic.”
“Or creepy …” Or with a massive ego. Mr. Sensational?! I harrumph.
“Let’s see. Who’d send you flowers?” Margo says.
They take turns naming single guys we know.
The real question is, who is the only person who calls me Junie?
A few days later, my so-called secret admirer sends me a box of gourmet Godiva chocolates—my favorite assortment that includes the “Pecan Caramel Duet,” the “Dark Ganache Bliss,” and the sweet little “Raspberry Star.”
The note attached to the box is also from Mr. Sensational. It doesn’t escape my attention that boxes of these chocolates were going to be the favors at Mikey’s and my wedding.
Not going to lie, I ate all of them, even the “Cherry Cordial.”