Chapter 33 Complete
Complete.
It was EL'evation's first major event, and everything had to be perfect.
I could feel the anticipation in the air as I rushed through the convention center. It was the kind of place where big names in the industry came to see and be seen. But right now, all I could think about was how much I had to do.
I tried to push the worry out of my head as I glanced at the clock. It was almost time. El was somewhere around—I’d left him by a booth that sold candles which melted into hair oil when lit. The man was like a kid in a candy store, damn near hypnotized.
Meanwhile, I was trying not to spiral.
As I made my way to the preparation area, I spotted Esther walking toward me, a smile on her face despite the chaos surrounding us. Her arms were crossed as she sized me up.
“You good?” she asked, knowing I had been on edge all day.
I was not good. London left her combs at the hotel. Johanna had run off with one of the guys from a barbering booth, and Chelsea was on the verge of a panic attack.
I nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Just… trying to keep it together.”
Esther blinked. “So… no.”
“Very much no.”
She didn’t flinch, just reached out and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to stop and meet her gaze. “Listen. You’ve done harder things than this. You’ve been preparing for this since last year, E. You’re built for this.”
“I know,” I said, still a little unconvinced. “But this is different. This is huge.”
Esther leaned in. “Shh! Would I have flown all this way if I thought we’d look bad?”
Weird way to build morale, but— “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Exactly! We’re gonna succeed because I would never let you embarrass yourself in public.”
This was the worst motivational speech she’s ever given.
“Thanks, Es,” I said, my tone deadpan. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She gave me a knowing look. “You’d be a mess, that’s what.”
I laughed, feeling the knot in my stomach ease a little and realizing maybe motivation wasn’t the point.
By the time I finished setting up my booth, my nerves were shot.
Tablecloth smoothed. Sign taped. Products in neat rows—curl custards, oils, my whipped mango butter with the handwritten labels I almost cried over last night.
I adjusted my display for the hundredth time and straightened the small stack of business cards I had custom printed. Gold foil. Matte finish.
London and Chelsea were already getting ready for the hair show portion of the expo, going back and forth in front of the booth where we displayed our mannequins with the Hair Icons inspired looks.
Meanwhile, Johanna and Esther were busy restocking the product table and chatting with early onlookers.
My palms were sweating.
The mango butter was new. I based it on the concoction I made when I styled Esther’s hair back in Thailand. I figured since I was going to extend the EL’evation brand, I might as well start with something fresh. El was so excited that I made that decision, he even made the logo for me.
This was its debut, and I felt like I was sending my firstborn off to kindergarten—except in this case, if the world didn’t love it, it wouldn’t just be heartbreaking, it’d be humiliating.
What if no one bought it? What if it melted? What if I spelled rosemary wrong on the damn label?
But then, someone stopped.
A girl with bright green box braids and deep dimples picked up one of the jars.
“I know you from Instagram. Elliot, right?”
My heart stuttered. “Y-yeah, that’s me.”
She unscrewed one of the jars and inhaled deeply.
“This smells amazing,” she said, closing her eyes like it was perfume. “Oh my God. What is this?”
“Mango butter, shea, avocado oil… and a little rosemary and peppermint,” I said, trying not to hover. “I make it in small batches. It’s great for dry ends, twists, even as a body butter.”
She grinned. “I’m buying two.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. My scalp’s been acting up, and this just smells like it’ll heal something.”
She handed over a fifty and walked away humming, her bag swinging with my jars inside.
And just like that, the air shifted.
People kept coming. Not in waves—more like a steady stream.
Some asked questions, some sniffed and walked on, but a surprising number stayed.
They tested my products on the backs of their hands.
They asked about ingredients. They told me about their curls, their shrinkage, their breakage, and even their dreams.
A mother-daughter duo stood in front of my table for ten full minutes, discussing which oil would help the girl’s thick coils retain moisture overnight. A college student with bleached ends dabbed some custard into her palm and smiled. “This feels like buttercream frosting.”
Johanna caught my eye and gave me a subtle thumbs-up. Esther, standing beside her, was already restocking the sample spoons.
Behind them, London had a mannequin that was halfway braided and was explaining sectioning techniques to a growing crowd. Chelsea was on the mic, detailing twist-outs like a pro, her honey-blonde curls bouncing under the lights as she gestured and smiled.
And somewhere in all of this chaos, El had returned. His pod had malfunctioned, and he stepped away to fix it.
“Hey, boss,” El murmured against my ear.
I leaned back into him instinctively. “You good?”
“All patched up,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.
I turned in his arms, eyes searching his. “You sure? You didn’t look great earlier.”
“I’m better now.” He looked down at the dwindling product and smirked. “Looks like I’m not the only one thriving.”
I grinned. “Apparently, people like whipped butter.”
“Of course they do,” he said softly, brushing a curl off my forehead. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Puddin’,” I said.
“When’s the hair show?” he asked, his thumb grazing mine.
“In a minute. I should get ready soon—”
“Hi, Ellie.”
My stomach dropped at the familiar voice. I turned, slow and disbelieving, my chest already tightening.
Her glossy curls were perfectly defined. Her makeup flawless. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Esther beat me to it, her voice slicing through the tension. “Oh, hell no.”
“Hope,” I said, blinking. “You’re here? Why?”
She shrugged, like it was nothing. “I came to support.”
Johanna raised a brow. “We don’t believe you.”
“Can we talk for a second?” Hope asked, ignoring the outbursts. “Please. I’m not starting drama. I promise.”
“Again. Why?” I asked, slower this time.
“I just want to talk.”
I hesitated. Every fiber in my body was telling me not to walk into this. But something in her tone had me second-guessing.
“Johanna, can you handle the products for a sec?”
“No prob,” she said, already moving toward the table like she’d been waiting for the chance to guard it with her life. Her eyes never left Hope.
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
I started to step away, but El’s grip on my hand tightened protectively. I looked up at him. His jaw was tense, eyes locked on Hope.
“El—” I started gently.
But he didn’t let me finish. He kissed me. Not just a peck. Not for show.
It was long. Deep. Possessive. Right there in front of her. Like he needed her to see. Like he needed her to know he was satisfied with his decision.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was low but clear. “I love you.”
My heart melted on the spot. “I love you, too.”
Slowly, I turned away from the safety of him and walked off with Hope.
Hope fell into step beside me, “Congrats on the engagement,” she said, a little awkwardly.
“Thanks.”
We stepped away from the crowd, finding a quieter corner near a display of satin bonnets and detangling combs.
I let out a slow breath. “Look… you said some really hurtful things to me last time we spoke.”
“You did too, Ellie,” she replied quickly. “And you hurt my feelings by never telling me about you and El.”
I crossed my arms, trying not to get defensive. “I’ll admit… I should’ve said something. At the time, though, El and I weren’t a thing. Not officially. When you said you’d ‘find better,’ I thought that was you moving on from the whole situation.”
“You could’ve said something,” she said again. “You could’ve told me if something was going on. Even if it wasn’t official. I know you had feelings for him before this.”
I looked at her closely. “If you knew I had feelings for him, why would you go after him?”
She shrugged. “Because I knew you weren’t ready to move on yet.”
My face screwed up. “Did you really like him, Hope? Or were you just trying to get under my skin?”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. And that silence told me everything I needed to know.
I gave her a long look, my jaw clenched as heat rose to my face.
“He’s not a toy, you know. He has feelings.
I have feelings, and you hurt them consistently.
You threw jabs when I was already down. You nitpick everything I do.
You make me feel like you’re too good to be associated with me.
Then you turned around and tried to date the one person you knew I was trying to figure out my feelings for.
It’s like you hated me. You continuously treated me like shit and I’d let you!
I wanted you to like me so badly that I did whatever you said, like an idiot, and that’s on me for putting up with it for so long.
But I’m over it now. This friendship no longer serves me, it probably never did, honestly. ”
“I didn’t know it was that deep,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did. You meant to,” I cut in. “And even if you didn’t, it’s not my responsibility to teach you how not to be a shitty friend. I’m over trying to maintain relationships with people who made it obvious they don’t care about me. I’m tired of it.”
She nodded slowly. “So… we’re not friends anymore?”
I looked her in the eye. “No. We’re not.”
Hope blinked, then glanced down at the floor. “Okay.”
We stood there a second longer. I didn’t know what she was waiting for—maybe some softness? I didn’t offer it.
“I should get back to my booth,” I said.