Chapter Four

Charlotte

“Let’s start over,” I said, trying not to think about the sexy-as-hell country boy who’d just stormed out of the repair shop.

Sure, he was just trying to help, but the second he decided that I wasn’t capable of handling this situation on my own, I snapped. Now he was gone, and I was here negotiating a deal with the grease monkey.

“I need this car fixed as soon as possible. You and I both know I don’t belong here,” I said, and Wayne nodded in agreement. “Can you please help me out?”

“I’ll put your car at the top of the list,” he finally agreed. “I’ll aim for Wednesday, but I’m charging extra for the rush job.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I said with a smile.

When he reached out his hand to seal the deal, I hesitated. Mine were still greasy from our first handshake.

When I didn’t take his hand, he laughed. “Okay then. Verbal agreement, it is.”

“Agreed.”

As I walked out of Wayne’s Auto Repair, I felt a sense of pride. I’d done it on my own. The words of the people I’d left behind in New York repeated in my head.

“Let me handle this.”

“Just be a good little girl and let the men take care of everything.”

“You don’t have to do anything but look pretty.”

The hell I did. I’d handle whatever came my way. I was an independent woman.

As I walked down the cracked sidewalks of Shady Grove toward the business district, I felt like a lioness. Sure, it was a small feat, negotiating a deal for my car repair, but damn it if I didn’t feel like roaring. This was what Katy Perry had been singing about.

I passed the terrible chicken restaurant with the ridiculous name and headed toward a block of small shops, all connected in a row. While the structures of the buildings were all the same aging brick and wood, each storefront had its own personality. An antique store was first, with gingerbread-style trim and a sign that read Yesteryear. It was followed by a small hardware store, then a newspaper office, The Shady Grove Gazette. I chuckled as I walked past the window and saw two people inside, busily typing away on their computers.

What could they possibly have to report on in this town?

When one of the newspaper workers looked up and caught me staring, she smiled and waved.

Oh shit. What if they’re writing about me? What if the out-of-towner is the headline story?

I quickly ducked out of sight and moved on to the next building. The last thing I needed was press, even in a small town. If the story somehow made its way back to New York, someone would surely come and try to find me. To talk sense into me, as my father had put it.

I didn’t need a talking-to; I needed to be left alone. I needed to do something on my own for once. I’d already imagined the surprise on my parents’ faces when they found my apartment empty and my belongings gone. They were probably still pissed that they had to send a church full of people home. Served them right for signing me up for something I didn’t agree to.

I took in a deep breath, pleased that the fresh country air seemed to calm my nerves. This place wasn’t so bad. With little to no traffic and little to no people, it was a quiet place. A good place to collect yourself. To reflect and plan ahead. Also, a good place to get some much-needed alone time . . . or to get my nails done, I realized as I found myself in front of a quaint little salon—Cut and Dyed.

May as well make the most of this morning, I thought as I looked down at my hands and grimaced at my chipped nail polish.

I walked through the door, and the eyes of the three clients and the stylists helping them all focused on me. The clients were all of a certain age, as in old. And the stylists all appeared to be in their mid-forties, each of them modeling the latest in mom cuts.

“Can I help you?” one of the stylists asked from behind the chair of an elderly woman getting perm rods twisted into her hair.

For a moment, I thought I must have entered a time warp. Perm rods?

“I hope so,” I said with a smile. “I was hoping to get a manicure.” I held up a hand to reveal the remnants of polish on my nails. “And a blowout?”

There was nothing I loved more than someone else doing my hair for me. Back in New York, I went every two or three days. I just hoped to God this place offered more than perms.

“Of course,” she said with a smile, and then yelled, “Audrey!” startling not only me, but her client. “Do you have time for a manicure?” she asked a younger-looking girl who stepped into the salon from a back room.

“Sure,” Audrey said with a smile.

Unlike her coworkers, Audrey was a little sprite of a thing. Her long dark hair was an unnatural color of burgundy, but it suited her style, which was black jeans and a vintage-looking T-shirt with the words Live Free on the front. Her eyes were dramatically lined with dark charcoal, and tattoos on her arms and collarbone peeked out from her shirt.

“Come on back.” She beckoned me with a wave, and the mismatched bangle bracelets on her wrists clinked together in an almost soothing melody. “I’m Audrey, in case you didn’t catch that announcement,” she said with a chuckle.

I followed her to a small room in the back of the salon, where a nail table was set up in a corner. “I heard.”

“Bess is a bit of a loudmouth,” she confessed as we took our seats out of earshot of the rest of the crew.

“Saves on an intercom system.”

“Sure does.” She smiled. “So, you must be the new girl.”

“Is that what they’re calling me?”

“New girl. Out-of-towner. Broke-down Audi at Wayne’s. To name a few,” she said with a grin.

“It’s Charlotte,” I told her.

“Well, Charlotte, it’s nice to meet you.” She placed a small dish with a self-explanatory decoration in the center that read Rings and Things.

I slipped off the two rings I wore on my right hand and placed them in the dish, then managed to stop myself from reaching for the ring that used to be on my left hand. The phantom weight that I still felt on that fourth finger was starting to fade, but if you looked closely you could see the outline of what used to be. Or, at least, what could have been.

“Do you have a color in mind?” Audrey asked, pulling me back to the present.

“Lincoln Park After Dark,” I said without hesitation.

“I like a girl that knows what she wants,” she said with a nod. “It’s my favorite too.” She held up her perfectly manicured hands. “Just touched mine up yesterday.”

“It’s a staple.”

“It really is.”

As we bonded over our love of OPI, I had to admit a little pang of jealousy raked through me. Audrey could paint her own nails. Lucky girl. Every time I tried to “touch up” my polish, it ended up looking like a drunk toddler had been holding the brush.

I dipped one hand into the bowl of warm, scented water that Audrey offered as she readied her supplies.

“What do you think of Shady Grove?” She picked up my other hand and began to remove the old polish. “Honestly?” she added with a pointed look.

“Well . . .” I hesitated. “It’s small.”

“Microscopic.”

“But it’s quaint,” I said, trying to be polite.

“It’s Podunk.”

“Maybe a little. Most of the people are really nice, though.”

“They can be.” She slipped my polish-free hand back into the water and picked up the other. “Who have you met? Besides Wayne,” she said with a chuckle. “He’s a trip, right?”

“He is, but he did agree to get my car fixed by Wednesday, so that’s good.”

“His Wednesday is usually Friday.” When a small sigh slipped from my lips, she added, “But maybe he’ll prove me wrong. Enough about him. Who else have you met?”

“Opal at the inn,” I said. “She’s sweet, and the room she gave me is very nice.”

“Great gal.”

“And Maggie at Wayne’s.”

“Nosy gossip,” Audrey said matter-of-factly. “Her nickname is Maggie the Mouth.”

“Good to know.” I laughed.

“Molly Wilder.”

“Love her. We actually graduated together.”

“She seems awesome,” I told her. “And her brothers.”

Audrey gave me a sly grin. “Nice to look at, right?”

“They’re okay.” I shrugged, trying not to fan the fire that seemed to burn inside me when I thought about Luke. They were beyond nice to look at. It was the talking part that I wasn’t a fan of. “I haven’t had too much interaction with them. Duke seems nice enough, but I know a player when I see one.”

“You pegged him.” Audrey nodded, confirming my suspicions. “And Luke?”

“Most arrogant man I’ve ever met.”

What was even more frustrating than his arrogance was the fact that no matter how hard I tried, the moment I thought about him, my body heated with more than just anger. My heart rate picked up. My palms became sweaty. My mouth went from dry to wet in seconds as if ready to rip his pants off with my teeth and take care of him from my knees. And I didn’t even like the guy. Fucking infuriating was what it was.

“Really?” She began filing my nails. “I’m surprised. He’s usually pretty down-to-earth.”

“Not to me. So far, my interactions with him have included him telling me that I’m stuck-up and spoiled.” Heat rose in my chest as I thought about him. “He’s got some nerve, I’ll tell you that much. I saw him this morning at the garage, and he actually tried to negotiate with Wayne on my behalf. As if I couldn’t do it myself,” I scoffed.

“That’s terrible,” Audrey said. “I hate it when a good-looking man offers his help. What a bastard.”

“Right? I don’t need a man to take care of me.”

“Girl power.” Audrey held up a hand in solidarity. “I mean, what kind of asshole would try to help a woman out? Especially in a place that she’s never been to, and talking to a mechanic that he’s known since birth. One that he probably knows for sure would take advantage of someone that drives a super-expensive car.”

I finally realized what Audrey was doing when I noticed the smirk on her face.

“That Luke Wilder is no good, I tell you.” She shook her fist toward the ceiling to layer on the sarcasm.

“Shit,” I said, realizing that I might have overreacted a bit. “Maybe I was a little harsh on him today.”

“Maybe.”

“But he did refer to me as a New Yorker with a stick up my ass, so he’s not completely off the hook.”

“Well, he’s not perfect.” She laughed.

“Enough about that,” I said, needing to change the subject. If I thought about Luke any longer, I might actually get the urge to go and apologize to his sexy ass. In my defense, I’d spent the last twenty-eight years having men tell me what to do and how to do it. My reaction to Luke was merely a side effect of my current rebellion. “What’s an obviously trendy, fashionable chick like you doing here?”

“You know the human intercom out there?” she asked, and I nodded. “That’s my mom.”

“Hmm. I would have never guessed.”

“Yeah, we’re night and day, so I went to cosmetology school. Tried to make it in LA for a few months. Ran out of money, and now I’m back,” she said, apparently not too thrilled with how things had ended up. “It wasn’t exactly what I had planned for my life, but it is what it is. I’m just going to try and make the most of it.”

“For what it’s worth,” I said, watching as she finished trimming back my cuticles. “You give a kick-ass manicure.”

“Girl, I know.” She grinned. “When we’re finished here, I’m going to give you a blowout that will rock your world.”

“I can’t wait.”