Chapter 22 Enjoyment
Enjoyment.
I hadn’t slept properly in two days.
My entire house was a disaster—half-finished wigs on mannequin heads, bottles of styling foam and leave-in conditioner scattered across the counter, and my sketchbook lying open on the floor, pages filled with last-minute adjustments for the models.
The air smelled like burnt synthetic hair and coconut oil, thick enough to cling to my clothes. I barely noticed it anymore.
It was crunch time. The expo was two months away.
I sat cross-legged on my living room floor, a full-lace wig clamped onto a stand in front of me.
My fingers moved on autopilot, parting, braiding, and securing the hair in place.
My fingers ached, stiff from braiding for hours, but I wasn’t done yet.
I grabbed a fine-toothed comb and started parting the hair into clean, sharp sections.
Each part had to be perfect—straight enough to look effortless, neat enough to hold under the lights of the stage.
Precision was everything, especially since I had to style at least three more of these before tomorrow for London to review.
I grabbed the book, flipping to the page with what I had left to do:
Finish styling the lace fronts.
Order new drill bits for Es.
Double-check the product list for the day of the show.
I exhaled. Not bad. I was on schedule, maybe even ahead of it.
My phone buzzed:
Puddin’: Hey, just checking in. I know you’re busy, but if you get a break, I’d love to see you at the panel.
After the kiss, our interactions have been…limited. I hesitated before replying.
Me: I’ll try.
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either.
“E, you alive down there?”
It was Esther.
I rolled my eyes and called out, “Barely.”
She stepped into the living room with a raised brow. “Damn, it smells like a whole beauty supply store in here.”
“Welcome to hell.” I gestured around at the chaos.
She whistled low. “And you wonder why you got carpal tunnel at twenty-seven.”
I laughed half-heartedly. “Shut up.”
With a dramatic sigh, she flopped onto the couch. “So when are you actually gonna start getting ready for El’s thingy tonight?”
I glanced at my phone. “Funny you mention it. He just texted me. I think he really wants me there.”
Esther gave me a look. “Of course he wants you there, stupid. It’s important to him and you’re important to him. That’s kind of how that works.”
I hesitated, picking up my hot comb and testing the heat against a paper towel. When the paper darkened slightly, I knew it was hot enough.
“I know. And I know how it feels to be disappointed by someone you held in high regard. Believe me,” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. “But I can’t be one of the important things in his life right now. I’ve got too much going on.”
“Like what?” Esther shot back. “The salon that’s thriving? The expo that’s months away and you’ve already over-prepared for? Or your backstabbing family?”
I flinched at that last part.
“Yes. All of it,” I said quietly. “I can’t add Elliot to the equation.”
She folded her arms. “You’re being selfish, E.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You. Are. Being. Selfish,” she said, punctuating each word. “Have you considered that maybe Elliot’s got a lot going on, too? But he still made time for you. And now, the one time he needs you to show up, you aren’t gonna? Very selfish, E. Like. Hope level selfishness.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.
She leaned in. “And that’s not like you. The Ellie I know would drop everything to be by his side. So tell me. What’s going on?”
I hesitated. Then, in a small voice, “I kissed him. Well. We kissed. And now everything feels awkward.”
Esther raised an eyebrow. “Is it awkward? Or do you just feel weird?”
I sighed. “I feel weird.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wouldn’t see it as a big deal,” I said, exasperated. “El’s so easygoing about us. It’s almost exhausting.”
“Or maybe,” she said slowly. “You’re just overthinking the hell out of it. You like him. He likes you. You kissed. These are not complex situations, E.”
“It’s not that simple.” I shook my head. “After Ryan and Jonathan, I can’t do relationships. I can’t trust myself not to get worked up. I can’t lay myself bare in front of someone again. I can’t let my guard down the way I’d need to for this to work.”
I swallowed hard. “And with his diabetes… I already worry so much. I’ve checked my phone ten times today, just wondering if he’s eaten. And you remember when he had the flu for two days, I damn near sent myself to the ER from panic attacks and—”
“Oh my God,” Esther cut in, her voice softening. “You’re in love with him.”
My cheeks burned.
“What?” I said.
Esther grinned like she’d cracked a code. “You’re in love with him.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not. It all makes sense. Why else would you be so worked up about a kiss when you’ve slept in his bed a million times with no problem?” She pointed at me like she was making her closing argument in court. “You’ve realized you want him. Didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
Esther’s grin widened. “This is so good.”
“Regardless of how I feel,” I said, forcing my tone to stay even, “a relationship isn’t smart. I like the way we are now. I like our friendship.”
“Oh, you mean the part where you’re hiding out in here instead of supporting him?” she shot back. “Some friend you are.”
I turned back to the wig stand and began pressing the roots, watching the strands lay flat under the heat. “That’s not it at all. Of course I want to go. I want to support El, but…”
“But?” she echoed.
I paused, my mouth going dry.
“I just… need to focus on this,” I said, nodding toward the wig. “That’s all.”
Esther didn’t look convinced. She just watched me for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I won’t get in your business anymore. But if you finish early, you should go. You know how much it would mean to him.”
I didn’t answer.
She stretched, standing up. “I’ll see you later, then. And text me if you need me.”
I nodded, and she left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence settled over the room again.
I put the hot comb down and stared at the half-finished wig in front of me.
The thing was, I was ahead of schedule. If I pushed just a little harder, I could probably wrap everything up in time for the panel.
I chewed my bottom lip, then reached for the styling mousse.
I’ll try.
?
After way too much time stumbling around the convention hall, I slipped into the auditorium as the moderator introduced the panelists. Fans filled every seat, some standing along the walls, eager to hear from the man of the hour himself—Elliot Greene.
I spotted him instantly, sitting center stage, long legs stretched out, a microphone in his hand. He looked relaxed, confident, but I knew him well enough to notice the tension in his grip and the way his fingers drummed lightly against his outer thigh.
He was nervous as hell.
I found a spot near the back, just out of sight, and listened.
The discussion started with light questions about his art style, his process, and how he juggled writing and illustrating his own work while heading a division of a multimillion-dollar company.
“How do you manage all this?” an audience member asked. “It all seems time-consuming, and I swear there aren’t enough hours in the day.”
He shrugged but did not look up as he’d say, “When you love something, you make time. When you want something, you work towards it. When you need something, you do everything in your power to make sure you get it. It’s just discipline and patience. Two things I have in abundance.”
Something told me he wasn’t just talking about art.
Then someone asked a question that made my stomach twist.
A girl near the front, wearing a t-shirt with his comic’s main character printed on it, raised her hand. “I know this may sound weird, but why a Black female lead? What was the inspiration?”
Elliot smiled, shifting in his seat. “That’s a great question.”
He took a second, running a hand over his jaw like he always did when deciding what and how much to say.
“Well, I always knew I wanted the main character to be a woman. This story is about strength, resilience, honor, love, and kindness in the face of danger. When I think of all that, I think about my grandmother’s arms. I think about my mother’s warm smile in photos.
I think about coming home and seeing the most beautiful woman in the world in the living room.
There’s nothing more wonderful than being loved by a Black woman, and I wanted to make a story that reflects that.
” Then, casually—a bit too casually if you ask me—he said, “As for inspiration, I drew a lot of that from the woman I love.”
My breath caught.
A ripple of excitement moved through the crowd. A few people whispered to each other, and the moderator sat forward, interested.
“The woman you love, huh?” The moderator pushed. “You wanna tell us about her?”
Elliot continued as if he’d been dying for someone to ask him, his voice steady.
“She’s strong, sometimes stubborn, slightly predictable, but in a good way.
When I first saw her, I was so captivated that I thought my chest was going to burst. She so fucking gorgeous.
No bullshit. She’s probably the most breathtaking thing to walk the earth.
And she’s so sweet. Like the sweetest person ever.
She’s funny and smart. She keeps me focused. ”
I struggled to breathe as I forced air into my lungs. I mean, there was still a chance he wasn’t talking about me.
Right?
A man near the front raised a hand. “So, are we ever gonna meet her?”
Elliot smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m keeping this one to myself.”
More laughter.
He wasn’t talking about me.
RIGHT?
The moderator leaned forward. “You said you love her. What kind of love are we talking about here?”
My whole body tensed.
For a moment, Elliot hesitated. Then he smiled a soft smile, not cocky or teasing. “The real kind.”
Oh my God.