Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Eva
It’s been days since that dinner, and I still can’t get Esteban out of my head.
I’ve tried, believe me. I’ve buried myself in work, organized and reorganized every shelf at the salon, I organized Ashton’s product on the display, and even deep-cleaned the breakroom fridge.
Yet he keeps showing up in my thoughts. The way he looked at me that night like I was the only one in the room.
The way he leaned in close, brushed my hair behind my ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The feel of his lips on my cheek still lingers like a stamp no amount of scrubbing can erase.
And the worst part? I keep hoping I’ll see him again.
Every day, I catch myself glancing through the salon’s front window, pretending I’m just checking the weather or admiring the street.
But deep down, I’m waiting, looking for him.
Maybe walking down the sidewalk. Maybe ducking out of Josy’s coffee shop with that lazy grin of his and a cup in hand. But I haven’t been that lucky.
Not yet.
And I hate how disappointed I feel every time the door across the street opens and it’s not him. It’s like something inside me tugs tighter each time, reminding me that this isn’t supposed to feel this way. That this whole thing between us is fake. A favor. A performance.
But tell that to my heart because it clearly didn’t get the memo.
Business has been wonderful. The support I’ve received from the town has been more than I ever imagined.
Every day, people walk through the doors curious, eager to learn, and ready to buy whatever I recommend.
I’ve had so much fun talking to all these women, sharing tips, listening to their stories, and helping them feel confident in their own skin.
It’s been filling me with something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope.
Even more surprising is that people have been coming in from all over North Carolina just to meet me and check out my products.
It’s surreal, honestly. Some days, I feel like a local celebrity when in reality, I’m just doing what I love, mixing formulas, helping people feel good about themselves, and building something I can be proud of.
Then there's my social media. Ever since I posted the short video with Esteban, things have blown up. My following has grown by the thousands overnight. Comments have flooded in asking who he is, if he’s single, and begging for more content with the “hot skincare guy.” People loved seeing a man take interest in skin care, especially someone who looks like that while I talked about serums and exfoliants.
I've been tagged in duets, reactions, and edits with cheesy romantic music in the background.
Everyone wants more of him.
So. Do. I.
Not just for the algorithm boost, but because being around Esteban feels effortless, exciting.
He brings this playful energy that’s magnetic on camera…
and off. I’ve been thinking about asking him to film another video with me, maybe even a series.
But I haven’t brought it up yet. I want to see how our friendship goes first, then maybe I’ll work up the courage to ask him.
I spot Mrs. Mirtha and Mrs. Henrietta sitting patiently in the waiting area, both perched on the edge of their chairs like they’ve got front-row seats to a show.
They’re the unofficial town gossip queens, sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, but always sweet with me.
I’ve known them since I was a kid, and seeing them here now, grinning like they’re up to something, brings a smile to my face.
Looks like it’s time to catch up on all the very important local news. I’ve been gone too long, and clearly, I’m out of the loop.
When I finish up with my client, I turn to the waiting area and wave at the two familiar figures sitting side by side in their perfectly coordinated outfits: matching floral dresses, white cardigans, and their signature pearl necklaces and earrings.
They’re the cutest old ladies, and their smiles warm something in my chest.
“Hi Mrs. Mirtha, Mrs. Henrietta,” I say as I approach them. “How have you been?”
“Oh, we’ve been better,” Henrietta says, waving a delicate hand as she stands. “We’re just so glad you’re back, my sweet girl. We haven’t seen you in forever.”
“True,” Mirtha chimes in, getting to her feet with a slight huff.
“You left for college and stayed gone so long. Your momma was beside herself. I kept telling her you’d come back eventually, but someone”—she shoots a look at Henrietta—“kept saying you’d get married to some city boy and forget all about us. ”
Henrietta gasps. “I never said that!”
“You absolutely did. Don’t argue in front of the girl, we’re trying to make a good impression,” Mirtha says, swatting gently at Henrietta’s arm.
Laughing, I lead them to the chairs in front of one of the large mirrors. “Well, I’m back for good now. No plans of leaving Honey Springs ever again.”
They both beam like I just told them I’m running for mayor.
“You hear that?” Henrietta says, nudging Mirtha. “Back for good. I told you that city life wasn’t going to keep her.”
Mirtha rolls her eyes. “You also told me kombucha was made from mushrooms.”
“It tastes like mushrooms!”
Their playful bickering makes me grin as I start getting my supplies ready. I’ve missed this—the familiar faces, the warm banter, the small-town charm.
“How can I help you today?” I ask, cutting in before the bickering can spiral into a full-blown debate.
“We want some products for our old-lady spots,” Mirtha says, patting her cheeks dramatically. “I have so many I’m going crazy.”
“Yeah, she looks like a Dalmatian,” Henrietta chimes in without missing a beat. “I always told her to wear sunscreen when we were younger, but she insisted on tanning like one of those girls in a beach movie. Now look at her.”
“Oh, don’t start with me,” Mirtha huffs. “You’ve got spots too. You’re no porcelain doll yourself.”
I lift my hands, smiling. “Ladies, ladies. Let me assure you—dark spots, or hyperpigmentation, are completely normal, especially with mature skin. As we age, our skin produces more melanin in certain areas, especially after years of sun exposure. But don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing.”
I walk over to my product shelf and return with a few small jars.
“These are some of my top sellers. This one here has niacinamide and licorice root extract, both amazing for brightening the skin and fading spots over time. And this one is a gentle exfoliant with lactic acid, which helps slough off dead skin and encourage new, even-toned skin to shine through.”
Their eyes go wide like I just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
“Try these samples on the back of your hands,” I say, offering them each a small wooden spatula. They begin rubbing the creams onto their skin, murmuring about the texture and scent, and of course, that’s when the gossip kicks in.
“Speaking of spots,” Henrietta says, lowering her voice with a mischievous glint in her eye, “did you hear Megan’s back in town?”
Mirtha snorts. “I saw her at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday. She looked like she’d been dragged through the emotional wringer and dropped off at heartbreak hotel.”
“I heard she came back alone,” Henrietta adds, whispering now like we’re on the set of a spy thriller. “After that mess with the married man from Sweet Springs, what was his name?”
“Brian or Brent or something slimy,” Mirtha mutters. “Wife found out and kicked him to the curb. Word is Megan thought she was moving in for good, but now she’s back here licking her wounds.”
I blink. “Wait, seriously?”
Henrietta nods solemnly. “Mayor’s daughter or not, she’s always had a thing for trouble. Remember when she tried to flirt with Austin? Right after he and Violet started talking?”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” Mirtha says, frowning. “That girl walked into Josy’s coffee shop like she owned the place, trying to stir up problem between Austin and Violet.”
“Violet almost lost it,” Henrietta says. “And we all know how composed she normally is.”
I shake my head as I cap the cream jars again. “Wow. I’ve only been back a few weeks and I already feel like I’ve missed so much.”
“Stick with us,” Henrietta winks. “We’ll keep you updated.”
After the last round of laughter with Mrs. Mirtha and Mrs. Henrietta, mostly about which one of them used to be the town heartbreaker, I finally walk them to the front and wave goodbye as they shuffle off arm-in-arm, still bickering about whether a certain Mr. Thompson actually winked at Henrietta at church last Sunday.
With the shop quiet again, I take a deep breath and head to the back to my station to check my inventory.
I’ve sold out of three moisturizers and the lip balm display is looking pitiful.
I make a mental note to restock as I scan through the products, half-focused, until the sound of the door chime pulls my attention back to the front.
I turn around and freeze.
Esteban is standing just inside the entrance, and he looks… ridiculously good.
His dark green shirt brings out the green in his eyes, making them gleam beneath the overhead lights.
His khaki work pants are stained with dirt and sawdust, like he just stepped off a job site.
There’s something about him, like this rugged, casual, completely himself that makes my stomach dip and twist in a way I wish I could control.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal. “Hi. How are you?”
He grins. “Hey, Eva. I was having lunch with Noah at the coffee shop and saw you through the window. Thought I’d come by to say hi. You want me to bring you something? Coffee? Food?”
God bless this man.
“Yes, actually. I’d kill for an iced coffee and a chicken wrap,” I say, letting out a breathy laugh. “It’s been non-stop all morning. I didn’t even realize I skipped lunch.”
“Got it,” he says with a soft smile, already turning for the door.
Before he can leave, Ashton waltzes in like he owns the place because he does, immediately eyeing Esteban with a theatrical grin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Muscles. You taking orders today? Because I’ll take an iced chai latte and a chocolate muffin,” he adds with a wink.
Esteban just chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As soon as he’s out the door, Ashton spins toward me, fanning himself dramatically. “If that man gets any hotter, I’m going to have to install a sprinkler system in here. And not for fire safety.”
“You’re impossible.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“And you’re flustered,” Ashton says, wagging a finger. “Don’t even try to deny it. You were practically drooling.”
“I was not.”
“Oh please. I saw the way your eyes went all Disney princess the moment he walked in. If this fake engagement turns real, I expect to be the flower girl.”
“You are delusional. I just like to look at him. He is the perfect eye candy.”
“He sure is.” Ashton says as he walks back to his station.
A few minutes later, Esteban walks in, a takeout bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other. The man is efficient, I’ll give him that.
“I got your wrap and iced coffee,” he says, handing them to me with a soft smile. Then he turns toward Ashton. “And one chai latte and a muffin for the drama queen.”
“You’re my hero,” Ashton says, as he walks back and accepts the treats with a wink.
Esteban looks back at me, his voice a little lower this time. “Hey, would you want to grab dinner later? I thought we could go over everything and make sure we’re fully prepped for next weekend.”
I blink, caught off guard for a second, then nod. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’d like that.”
“Cool. I’ll text you.” He smiles again, then heads for the door.
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving behind the scent of cedar and clean sweat and whatever cologne he uses that makes me want to press my face into his shirt and never come out.
I sip my iced coffee and try to slow my heartbeat, ignoring the very real fact that no amount of pretending is going to erase how much I want this man.