Fallon
Chapter thirty-three
Unloaded Love Note
Jules was already bouncing around the salon when I arrive, phone on a tripod, blonde hair pulled in a tight high pony. She waves in my direction like a caffeinated hurricane.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching her. I never show my face in her videos—but I enjoy being the mysterious copper-haired stylist in the background. Jules, of course, lives for the camera. She thrives on creativity.
“Three hundred thousand followers, Fallon. Three hundred thousand!” she shouts, spinning toward me. “And the last video went viral. My books are packed for the next three months. Honestly, if this keeps up, you’re either hiring another stylist or going full-time, because I can’t do it all!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You make it sound like I’m a slacker.”
“You love this too much to slack,” she shoots back, pulling on the hem of her sweater. “Besides, clients adore you. I’m the fun one in the videos. Face is optional, hair is mandatory. Thank goodness for glorious manes, am I right?”
I smirked. “Yeah…it does most of the work.”
“Exactly!” she says, leaning into the camera to tell her followers. “And don’t worry, Fallon’s shy. Mysterious. Possibly secretly struck by Cupid for someone…hmm?”
I freeze mid-pour of some color. “Jules—”
“Oh, come on! Don’t give me that face—you’ve been so busy, haven’t you? Is a certain someone hogging all your time, eating up every second of your attention? Spill it, I’m demanding all the tea!”
My eyes zero in on her, the smile forming whether I want it to or not. There’s no denying it. I…I have feelings for him. Stupid. Complicated. He’ll probably hurt me again, timing’s all wrong—but I do.”
Her grin is all teeth and mischief. “Aha! Finally! Spill it! Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Also, move to the right slightly. I want the Billy Blue color line popping on those shelves!”
I groan, hiding my smile, straightening a bottle of color. “Don’t make me say it aloud.”
“No need, it’s written all over your face,” she says, pressing record. “Say hello to 300,000 followers! Fallon’s back.”
“You better not post this with our audio, Jules!”
“I would never.” She gasps.
We’re mid-spin and giggling when the phone buzzes. Jules glances down, her mouth pops open before transforming into a feral grin. “The police department followed the salon page.” My heart stutters.
Shit. Why is he following the salon? Cyrus doesn’t do social media. Is this his way of showing support? Shit, I don’t know. I nibble my lip.
“Oh no,” I mutter under my breath.
“What? What is it?” she says, leaning over the back of a chair.
I try to act casually. “What do I do?”
Jules shrugs. “Keep it casual in the videos, how you always do. Besides, you’re not actually in any of the videos. It’s the back of your head.” She hits the record button again. Zooming in on the product shelf before she continues. “It’s probably nothing. Local businesses supporting one another.”
I groan. “What if he thinks our salon page is lame?”
“Relax,” Jules says, spinning around to face me.
“The thing he’ll notice most is how talented and amazing you are.
I’m holding off on posting this video—it needs editing.
I can remove the parts about how head over heels you are for Cyrus.
” She’s joking, I know it, but my pulse jumps at the thought of Cyrus hearing it. Well, not word-for-word.
Jules floats across the room to get a close-up over my shoulder of the color I’m formulating. Her toe catches on something. She stumbles into me. Grappling with the small device in her hands.
I watch in horror as she fumbles. Her fingers moving too fast across the screen. And just like that—click. “Jules! No! Don’t—” I lunge for the phone, but it’s too late. The video is on the internet. Great.
We go motionless, eyes wide. “Oh shit. Don’t panic. I’m panicking. You don’t panic,” Jules tries to placate me.
I bury my face in my hands. “Cyrus is gonna see that!”
Her hands come up. “Well…he’s going see your backside and my gorgeous blonde hair. You never mentioned any names- so technically, you’re safe? I think.”
I peeked through my fingers. Jules raises the phone, wiggling it in my face, “It’s okay, I can delete it real quick.
No one will even know.” Yep. There he is—the name in a bright neon green bubble pop across the screen.
Bluestone City Police Dept liked the video. My stomach drops; I’m going to be sick.
Jules spins around, triumphant despite the disaster. “Fallon, I deleted it! Disaster averted. Oh—wait. It’s glitching. It won’t delete.” She grimaces.
A strangled laugh escapes me, catching in my throat before tumbling into a full, messy burst. My shoulders shake, my hands flutter uselessly at my sides, heat blooms on my cheeks.
I shove a loose strand of hair behind my ear, but it keeps falling forward, sticking to the damp skin at my temple.
“I think… I think I could die right now and still be humiliated at my funeral if he showed up,” I admit, voice wobbling, half-laughing, half-crying, wishing I could melt into the floorboards.
In a split second, my feelings for him and the secrets I’ve kept so close to my chest collide into something wild and impossible to hide. All because Jules has the equilibrium of a sinking ship.
Ugh, I hate social media.