Run Home (Kansas City Crowns #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

Sam

Inearly drop the tray of hair lightener I’m holding when I read the text message alert on my watch.

The cosmetology teachers would not be pleased if my exuberant movement resulted in ruining a pan of mixed lightener, but this message deserves all the exuberance in the world. After safely setting the tray on a nearby counter, I dictate a reply into my watch to my future sister-in-law.

ME

Yes I’ll be your wedding planner! I’m so excited! I don’t even know why you would feel bad asking.

When another message notification comes through, I decide this conversation needs my full attention. My current practice client is a close friend, so she won’t be upset if I delay her balayage for a couple of minutes.

DANAE

I didn’t want you to feel pressured. Your days of being Griffin’s personal assistant are behind you, and you’re chasing your own passion now. I didn’t want you to feel guilted into it just because you used to help him plan so much. Especially since we’re on a short timeline.

ME

I don’t feel pressured. I want to do it. I’d love to help. My event planning skills haven’t gotten too rusty since we still did Camp Wizard this year. I’ll call you tonight to talk details.

DANAE

You are amazing.

Pocketing my phone, I head from the supply room out to the cosmetology school salon floor. The walk back to my station is a short distance, but I’m easily distracted by my fellow students’ work.

“Lynsey, those layers are looking gorgeous,” I say to one before turning to another to comment, “Perfect shade of warm brown, Mollie. I’m gonna need that formula written down.”

When I reach my station, I immediately gush to my waiting friend, Alice, “Guess what I get to do? I get to help plan Griff and Danae’s wedding!”

Alice smiles but clarifies, “What do you mean? What exactly are you planning?”

I start sectioning her hair as I explain, “I don’t know what all Danae wants me to do yet, but she texted and asked if I would mind being their wedding coordinator.”

“Like you would mind,” Alice snorts. “You’d be offended if she asked someone else to help instead of you.

” As one of the first friends I made when I moved to the Kansas City area six years ago, Alice knows me better than a lot of people.

She’s two years older and took me under her wing when I was a floundering twenty-year-old new to the city.

We met in a Pilates class before anyone knew I was the younger sister of the Kansas City Crowns’ star shortstop.

Smiling, I confirm her assessment of me. “Maybe definitely true. I know they’re planning a small ceremony, so I can’t wait to talk with Danae and figure out how to make this really personal to them. But now I want to hear about your family reunion last week. Did it go better than you expected?”

When Alice groans, I know that it did not, in fact, go well and listen attentively as she vents about the drama between her sister and their four cousins. I ask questions while carefully painting lightener onto sections of her light brown hair to add some artificial sun-kissed depth.

I’m so focused on my balayage strokes that it’s startling to notice four other cosmetology students gathered around me. With Lynsey hovering over my shoulder, I pause and look back at them. “What?”

“I’m watching the master at work,” Lynsey says. “You do balayage ten times better than the rest of us.”

Mollie adds, “I’m trying to learn your ways, O Great One.”

I laugh even as my cheeks pinken with embarrassment. Alice starts chuckling as well and says, “At least I know I’m in good hands.”

“You guys are ridiculous,” I scoff, diverting attention. “We’re all still mastering techniques. Let’s not forget my curtain-bangs fiasco last week.”

After a chorus of laughter, everyone disperses, and I concentrate on making Alice’s hair look flawless.

By the time I’m done with the balayage and start blow-drying and styling, we’ve talked about everything under the sun.

As I’m finishing up, Alice decides to press her thumb on the single untouched topic.

Namely, my singleness.

“You’ve certainly found your groove in cosmetology school. Does that mean you’ve had any time to dip your toes into the dating pool?” Alice pries.

“All ten of my toes are firmly on dry, solid ground, thank you very much,” I quip.

Alice narrows her eyes as she watches me in the mirror. “Sam. You haven’t dated in, what? Four years?”

I keep my voice light and carefree as I say, “Five. And you remember how well my previous dating experiences went.”

“A lot has changed since then,” she says, eyes softening. “You’ve changed a lot. It wouldn’t kill you to go on a date or two. At least try to put yourself back out there a little.”

“I’ll take your opinion under advisement,” I state.

Alice snorts a laugh. “Liar.”

Redirecting her attention, I pass her a handheld mirror and swivel the chair so she can see the back of her hair. “What do you think?”

“I love having a hair stylist for a friend—that’s what I think. This turned out even better than the inspiration photo! How’d you do this?” she exclaims.

Twirling a finger through my choppy blonde bob, I adopt an exaggerated French accent. “I’m an artiste.” I whip the black cape off of her shoulders with a flourish, and she stands to get a closer look at her fresh hair in the mirror.

“You’re the best, Sam. You’d be worth paying full salon price instead of the student rate, ya know,” Alice says.

Winking, I tease, “Don’t worry. I’ll be charging you full price soon enough.”

She hugs me before stuffing an overly generous cash tip in my hand, then leaves to pay at the front desk.

As a cosmetology student, the only income I earn is the tips that clients give on top of the discounted salon price they pay to the school.

Although I took out a small student loan on top of the money I stored away during the years I worked for Griffin, I’m grateful for the tips that keep me from draining my savings account.

Since Alice was my final practice client today, I thoroughly clean my station before leaving. As I drive home to my apartment, I call Danae.

“Hey, Samantha!” she answers. “Are you done for the day? Would you want to meet us over at Griff’s house for dinner instead of talking on the phone? Jason and I are going to head that way in a few minutes.”

“Sure! I’d love to join you. It’s been a whole four days since I’ve seen my guy.”

Last year, Danae adopted one of her students who was entering the foster care system.

She connected with Jason as the librarian at his elementary school and became his kinship foster placement.

Griffin and I were lucky enough to meet them when Jason attended Camp Wizard, the annual baseball camp my big brother hosts for kids in foster care.

Extra lucky for Griffin, considering he was starstruck by the woman who wasn’t starstruck by him, and now they’re engaged.

Extra lucky for me because I have a unique bond with Jason having also been in the foster system with my younger brother before being adopted by Griffin’s parents.

Even though I no longer live in Griffin’s house or work as his personal assistant, I usually see Griffin, Danae, and Jason multiple times a week. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m stopping by my apartment on the way there, so you can start eating without me if I’m taking too long,” I tell Danae.

“We’re perfectly capable of waiting for you,” she replies.

“I dunno,” I tease, “Jason’s got that whole preteen growth spurt appetite happening. He might eat his own hand if you don’t feed him in time.”

“Don’t call him a preteen,” Danae chides. “That sounds so much older than eleven. I’ll make him go outside and throw the baseball around with Griffin if he’s getting too hangry.”

When I walk into Griffin’s house forty minutes later, only Danae is in the kitchen, setting out fajita toppings on the giant island. The open-concept kitchen and living space is lit by huge windows that look out over the covered deck and sloping backyard.

“Let me guess? Throwing the baseball around?” I ask Danae as I approach.

She gives me an exasperated look. “You were right. The hanger was real. But he can learn the good manners of waiting for guests to arrive before eating.”

“I’m not sure I qualify as a guest,” I say with a laugh, squeezing Danae in a hug.

She’s a couple inches taller than I am, her five-foot-seven height putting her slightly closer to Griffin’s full six feet.

Griffin was a senior in high school when I moved in with our parents, David and Cinda West, at age nine.

The two oldest West siblings, Sawyer and Miranda, were already out of the house when Ian and I arrived on the scene.

At first, I was intimidated by how tall and broad-shouldered David and Griffin were, but I eventually learned that they were gentle panda bears, not aggressive grizzlies.

Releasing Danae from the hug, I fluff her shoulder-length auburn hair with one hand. “Are you going to let me add some color before the wedding?”

“No way. My days of regular highlights upkeep are behind me. I’m perfectly happy with my natural hair color,” Danae replies with a smile.

Dramatically sighing, I say, “You’re not wrong. Your hair does have the most gorgeous natural highlights. I selfishly want to play around with such a perfect starting canvas to see what I could do.”

“You’ve been using your own hair as a starting canvas lately,” she says. “I’ll forever picture you with the pink highlights you had when we first met, but I’m loving your current shade of blonde.”

With a dramatic hair flip, I say, “Why, thank you. When the calendar rolled to May, I decided to switch from ash highlights to a warmer honey tone for the summer. I’m glad you approve, especially since your wedding photos are coming soon.”

“You don’t need my approval, Samantha. You can do whatever you want to your hair.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Admit it. Your anxiety might take a nosedive if I dyed it neon blue right before the wedding.”