“Wanna meet me for lunch?” I ask Myla Rose over the phone. “We can hit up some after-Christmas sales too.”

“Gah, I wish I could. We’re about to head over to Jake’s. Cash built the twins a fort, and they want him to come over and play with them. Swear, he’s a giant man-child.”

I laugh, because she’s right. He so is. “That’s fine. I just wanted to ask. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. So, what’s going on with Drake?”

“Mama D says he got my letter. But I haven’t heard anything else. So, I guess we’ll know in five days.” I sigh loudly into the phone. “Five days, Myla Rose. How on earth am I gonna make it that long?”

“Girl, beats me. I’d be a mess.”

“I wonder what Seraphine and Mags are up to? Maybe they’ll—”

Myla Rose cuts me off. “Don’t bother. They’re staying close to home. Mr. Reynolds’s health is going downhill, and fast.”

“Crap. Have you talked to them? Do they need anything? I’ve been so consumed with my own mess that I’ve been a really crappy friend.”

“You aren’t a bad friend, AzzyJo. And yes, I talked to her last night. They’re all set. Just want to spend a bit of extra time together.”

“I get that. Oh! I know!” I yell into the phone. “I’m gonna post on Facebook that I’m taking appointments tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday. Limited slots. That’ll keep me busy.”

“Good plan, sister-girl. Heck, I might even send you Mrs. Keeler. She was telling me her husband has an office party on the twenty-ninth!”

“Myles! Yes! That’s perfect. Okay, posting now! Now, I just need to find a way to keep myself occupied today.”

“You know what? Meet us at Jake’s. You know he won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am. See you in an hour or so.”

* * *

Wednesday and Thursday bleed into each other, almost feeling like repeats. Wake up, worry. Get ready, worry. Go to the salon, worry. See three clients, and worry in between them. Come home, worry. Force down some food, worry. Fall into a fitful sleep—over and over again.

And today’s not any better. No, if anything, it’s worse. My mind is moving at warp speed through a million different scenarios. What if Drake just laughed at my letter? Maybe I should’ve asked him to meet me sooner. What if he doesn’t show? Or what if . . .

It’s endless, and aside from playing with Cash’s nephews on Tuesday, my only reprieve has been going to work or sleeping, and since I decided to only open for partial days, I’ve been doing a lot of sleeping.

Extra sleep or not, I’m still dragging ass this morning. I stumble through my morning routine, skimming it down to only the basics—messy bun, concealer, and ChapStick—before heading out the door in search of more caffeine, which is a double-edged sword if there ever was one. I’m already a hot mess from nerves. Add caffeine, and good Lord, I’ll be a jittery, trembling nightmare.

I pop into Dream Beans before heading into work, ordering the biggest iced latte they have. The first sip hits my tongue, and I sigh. It’s so, so good and just what I need to make it through the day.

Myla Rose’s client, Mrs. Keeler, is my final client for the day, and she breezes in at a quarter to four. “Happy almost New Year’s, Azalea dear. Listen, is there any way at all we could add on a glaze today? My hair is just dull and humdrum, and you know how these busybody housewives are. If I don’t look my best, they’ll start circling my Harold, and that just won’t do.”

It takes everything in me not to laugh at sweet Mrs. Keeler. God bless her. Her husband, Harold, is well into his sixties and sort of resembles a beardless Santa Claus—AKA, no housewives will be circling. But if it makes her feel better, who am I to deny her? “Of course. Head on back and change into a smock, and I’ll meet you at the shampoo bowl.”

I dampen and pre-treat Mrs. Keeler’s hair before applying the glaze. Once her hair is completely saturated, I cap her and sit her under the dryer. “I have my timer set for twenty minutes. Would you like a drink or a magazine?” I ask her.

“I would love some water, and no, thank you to the magazine. I have my Kindle handy and a date with a sexy Irish bartender who’s full of Troubles.” This time, I do laugh at her, but only because I know exactly which book she’s talking about, as I read it recently as well.

“Yes, ma’am. Enjoy that Aidan,” I tell her as I walk to the dispensary to get her a bottle of water. I’m bent over the fridge when I hear the bell on the front door chime. “Who the hell could that be?” I mumble as I straighten up and head back to Mrs. Keeler.

I scan the salon but don’t see anyone. “Must’ve been the wind,” I mutter to myself. “Here ya go. You have about eighteen minutes left. Holler if you need me,” I tell her before walking toward the front desk.

My steps come to a stumbling halt when I hear voices coming from our waiting room. Cautiously, I peek around the partition that separates the two areas of the salon, only to catch sight of the last two people I want to see, ever. What in the hell are they doing here?

Schooling my features into a mask of professionalism, I round the partition and greet them, my voice stiff and robotic. “Good evening, ladies. We’re not currently open for appointments.”

The two women stare at me for a few seconds, the silence stretching out uncomfortably, until Kelly finally speaks. “Not a problem, seein’ as we’re not here to get our hair done.”

My hackles immediately rise, right along with the hair on the back of my neck. “But we’re not here to cause any trouble, either,” Kasey is quick to add.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I mumble under my breath, “Sweet Jesus, help me . . .” before fully addressing them. “Then why are y’all here?”

Kelly and Kasey exchange what could only be described as a plotting glance before Kelly points her thumb toward her chest and tells me, “Consider me your Ghost of Christmas Past.” She jerks her thumb toward Kasey next. “And her your Ghost of Christmas Future, if you don’t get your shit together.”

Dumbfounded, I stare at them. “Excuse me, but what?”

Kelly rolls her eyes. “Listen, Azalea. Honestly, we don’t mean you any harm. We just want to make sure you’re serious about Drake. That you really get it. That you’re not gonna hurt him. Again.”

I swallow nervously, hating the way they’re ganging up on me. “I have no intentions of hurting him,” I tell them, pleasantly surprised by the strength in my voice. “So y’all can go.”

“Not happening, honey. We need to talk,” Kasey says, settling further into the couch.

I’m about to lay into her when the timer in my apron pocket sounds. “Ah. Saved by the bell, ladies. Y’all have a nice night.” I turn and head toward the back of the salon, where Mrs. Keeler’s waiting for me, assuming they’ll see themselves out.

Except the shop bell doesn’t ring. Lovely. Just fucking lovely.

I shampoo Mrs. Keeler’s hair twice, adding in five additional minutes of scalp massage before leading her to my chair, where I very slowly set about drying and styling her hair, feeding her some BS line about wanting her style to hold all night with the humidity and chance of rain. Praise be, she likes being pampered and doesn’t argue.

Once I’ve smoothed her auburn locks into submission and teased her hair to high heavens, I spin her toward the mirror. “Oh, goodness, yes. This’ll do just fine, dear. Heck, those housewives just may circle me instead of Harold tonight,” she says, smirking at her reflection.

“You’ll be the belle of the ball, for sure. Why don’t you get changed out of this smock and meet me up front?” I tell her as I straighten up my station.

“Sounds like a plan, and please put me down with Myla Rose for color as soon as she’s back. She is coming back, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, she is. Still don’t know how Cash convinced her to take a fourteen-week maternity leave, but he did!”

Mrs. Keeler sighs, but her eyes are glistening. “That man,” she says as she turns and heads back to get changed. I smile and nod because I know exactly what she means. Cash Carson is everything Myla could’ve ever wanted, and then some.

“Of course, y’all are still here,” I grump to the two gorgeous brunettes occupying my reception area.

“Oh, yeah, girl. We’re still here. You go on and finish up. We’ll wait.” Kasey’s smile is so saccharine it makes my teeth ache. Or maybe that’s from me grinding them. Either way.

Ignoring them both as best I can, I pull up Mrs. Keeler’s client card on the computer and start scrolling through Myla Rose’s availability to get her scheduled with her in the next week or two. “Oh–oh, my!” Mrs. Keeler jolts when she steps up to the front desk, bringing a hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize we weren’t alone. Are these girls friends of yours, Azalea, dear?”

Fighting back a rather unladylike snort, I tell her, “Not particularly.”

Nervously, her eyes flit back and forth between us before finally settling on me. “Are you safe, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am. They’re friends of . . . a friend, I guess you could say. They just wanna talk. You have a nice night, and be sure to tell all those jealous housewives to come see us, yeah?”

“You know I most certainly will. Oh, and my appointment—”

Sliding a card across the counter toward her, I smile. “Yes, ma’am. I booked you for a re-touch and trim two weeks from now. On your normal day of the week and time. Does that suit you?”

“It does. Thank you so much, Azalea. Have a happy New Year!”

I wish Mrs. Keeler well and walk her to the door, locking up behind her before turning to face Kelly and Kasey. “Okay, ladies. What gives? Why’re y’all here darkening my door, so to speak?”

“Jesus, dramatic much?” Kelly scoffs.

“Right, and you’re one to talk. So, let’s not.”

“Look, I’m sorry. We’re not here to be rude, not really. So, let’s start over, okay?”

My skepticism weighs heavy. “Why?”

“Well, because if you don’t manage to fuck everything up this weekend, you’ll be seeing a lot more of us.” Kelly’s words have my mind reeling, trying to find some sort of logic to latch onto.

“Wh–what do you mean?”

Kasey sighs and Kelly shakes her head. “I’m engaged to Drake’s one and only employee.” She flashes her ring in my face. “He popped the question earlier this month, and we cut our vacation short by a day so I could come talk to you.” She stares at me expectantly.

“Uh . . . thanks?”

That earns me a smile, and damn if I can’t see exactly what Drake saw in her. Kelly James is freaking gorgeous. “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously, listen up,” Kasey cuts in. “Drake called us both and told us about your note. We’re just here to make sure you mean it. That you’re really—for real—all in.”

I try not to let it show that I’m upset he told them about my letter. I poured my heart and soul into it. But I trust him, and if he chose to share it with Kelly and Kasey, I’m sure he had a good reason.

“Wait! If y’all are here to make sure I’m serious, does that mean he’s coming?”

“Slow your roll, honey,” Kasey says, her words like a needle to my hope-inflated balloon. “He didn’t tell us if he was gonna be there or not. We’re just here to make sure you’re gonna be there, and for the right reasons. For some reason, that man loves you, and if you hurt him again . . .” She lets her words trail off, but I’m no dummy, and I can fill in the blanks.

I take a few steps away from them, toward the front desk to grab my jacket and purse. “Listen, ladies. As much as it pains me to say this, I’m glad Drake has y’all in his corner. Friends like that are hard to come by. Thank you for stopping by, but I assure you, it wasn’t necessary. Drake Collins is my past, my present, and my future. He’s the end game. The grand prize. And he’s mine.

“I may have made some mistakes along the way, but I get it now. I’m not scared of the future, and I’m no longer stuck in the past. I know exactly what I need to do, and I have no qualms about doing it. So, if you ladies could just be on your way, I need to get home and pack.”

Once my little mini-rant is finished, Kelly and Kasey exchange bright smiles before hopping up and heading out the door. I follow behind them, immediately dialing Myla Rose the second they’re out of sight.