Chapter 22 #2
“He was. We were,” Marcia says, her eyes misting over as she stares at the photos. The emotion clears by the time she looks at me with a different sparkle in her eyes. “I sure hope you’ve recognized your perfect match.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at her mischievous expression. “Mar-shuh!” I exclaim again. “Bridge scandals, morning drinks, and meddlesome behavior—I’m afraid you’re only confirming all the retiree stereotypes!”
“I notice you’re not denying anything,” Marcia says with a smug smile. “I think you’ll be the first one to pour some tea. Come on.”
As we drink glasses of unspiked lemonade, I fill Marcia in on all that’s transpired between Adrian and me since we met her at the gala.
“Good. You would have been fools to deny what was so obvious between you. I’ll tell you the same thing I told that young man—don’t go wasting any moments. Snatch them up while you can,” she says.
“You told Adrian that at the gala?”
When she nods with pride, I tsk my tongue. “You are quite the meddler, Marcia Donnelly. But I’ll thank you for it because I couldn’t be happier with the results.”
After I pry the bridge-cheating scandal out of Marcia—with very little prying—she announces that we need to get started on the cookies if they’re going to finish baking before her after-lunch nap.
She walks me through each step, starting with creaming the softened butter and sugars together.
After mixing in the eggs and vanilla, Marcia pauses with gravity.
“Now this is where the secret part of the recipe comes in. Do you promise to not share this recipe with anyone undeserving and swear to bake dozens upon dozens of these cookies for all those who are deserving?” she asks.
Holding up a hand, I solemnly say, “I swear.”
Marcia pulls out a mason jar and says, “The trick is to add some homemade caramel sauce. I’ve written down the recipe for that as well. You’ll need to make the sauce before the cookies with plenty of time to cool down.”
I watch intently as Marcia continues through the rest of the recipe, and we sit down with a second round of lemonade as the first pan bakes. Twenty minutes later, both pans of cookies are finished, and we each take one from the cooling rack.
Biting into the soft, chewy cookie, I’m hit by the toasty layers of caramel flavor from the butterscotch chips and the caramel sauce. “Marcia, you have changed my life. I’ll never make another cookie recipe again.”
She bites into her own cookie with a pleased smile. Emotion clouds her eyes when she swallows. “These were always Harry’s favorite. Right up until the end.”
Setting the rest of my cookie on the counter, I wrap my arms around Marcia’s shoulders, gently hugging her.
“I’m honored that you would share these with me.
Thanks for giving me a little piece of the connection you and Harry shared.
I hope it becomes good luck for the start of my connection with Adrian. ”
“I’d hardly say your connection is just starting,” she says, returning a smile to her lips. “But I’ll happily wish all the goodness I had with Harry to the two of you.”
We eat three cookies apiece as I tell Marcia about the start of my career as a hair stylist. I can tell she’s tiring out when her movements slow ever so slightly, so I make quick work of washing up the dishes from baking before announcing that I should head home.
“I’d love to come see you again sometime soon, though,” I say as Marcia packages up a bag of cookies for me to take home. “I might have to learn how to play bridge so I can catch Deborah in the act.”
“She’s more slippery than a greased pig,” Marcia says with a sigh, and I can’t contain a burst of laughter at her expression. She smiles at me and says, “But maybe you’re young and quick enough to catch her.”
I give Marcia another hug and walk out to my car.
As I drive to the beauty-supply store to stock up on essentials—for free, thanks to Adrian’s gift—I mull over her advice.
To not waste any moments. I hold her good advice in one hand while the other holds the importance of restraining my natural tendency to rush into relationships.
I’m not sure how to reconcile the two.
But I know the lifetime of love Marcia had with Harry is what I want with Adrian. So I’m going to figure it out.
The next morning, I arrive at the salon thirty minutes before appointments begin. Lynsey and I already set up our station on Thursday, and she was here yesterday, reporting that everything worked like a dream.
Still, I want a few minutes to be alone in the space before my first official day as a stylist begins. Letting myself in the locked door, I pass through the pale turquoise lobby filled with plush velvet chairs and pop my head into the owner’s small office to let her know I’ve arrived.
“First big day, huh?” Adele says as she stands behind her desk. “I’m excited to have you here. And apparently someone else is excited too because these were delivered for you first thing this morning.”
She hands me a large vase filled with stargazer lilies, and I immediately smile.
“I didn’t realize I was renting a chair to one half of a Kansas City celebrity couple when you showed up with Lynsey to apply,” Adele says.
My cheeks color, and I open my mouth to offer apologies when she waves a hand to cut me off.
Smiling, she says, “Don’t worry. If anything, it will be good for business.
Let me know if you need anything today.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, then walk down the hall to the last room on the right.
The whole salon space is divided into smaller rooms with glass doors, keeping an open feel while providing more privacy to stylists’ conversations with their clients.
Some established stylists have private rooms with a single chair, while the chair that Lynsey and I are splitting is in a shared room with another stylist. She wasn’t here when we set up on Thursday, but the certificates on the wall named Veronica Thompson as our salon roommate.
I’m thankful that Veronica isn’t here yet, so I have privacy to open the small card tucked into the bouquet of flowers.
Adrian must have physically stopped into the floral shop to make this purchase because my name is written in his handwriting.
Pulling the tiny card out of the matching envelope, the note simply reads “Hope you get to sombré all day.”
Laughter erupts out of me right in time for a woman with sleek black hair to walk in. I clamp down on the giggle and quickly set the vase on my work station.
“Hi!” I say, holding out a hand. “I’m Sam. You must be Veronica?”
Her light brown eyes widen momentarily before narrowing. “Yes, I’m Veronica. Nice to meet you, Sam.” The tone of her voice indicates otherwise, but I smile nonetheless.
“I’m excited to get to know you. Lynsey and I are so happy to be in this space.
The salon has such a great vibe,” I chatter, and Veronica looks mildly annoyed already as she hangs her purse on a hook next to her station.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Well, I need to put away a few supplies and get ready for my first client. I’m so nervous. Any advice for my first day?”
She’s silent for a beat before she says, “I assume you’ll do just fine.” My smile falters, and Veronica’s eyes seem to bulge with a suppressed eye roll. “Clean up as you go. No one likes to walk through piles of other people’s hair.”
With an appreciative nod, I thank her and turn away to set my favorite styling products within easy reach of the sink and chair. Veronica’s lackluster welcome poured an energy drink all over my jitters, so I settle my gaze on the lilies, a cheerful burst of bright pink and white.
I let them be a good luck charm to calm my nerves. I let myself remember who sent them and why. Closing my eyes, I center my thoughts on the breath in my lungs, the pulse of my heartbeat, the feel of my fingertips tapping against my thumbs.
Walking out to the lobby, I prepare to greet my very first client.