MYLA ROSE
I’m lying in bed wide awake, knowing—dreading—the fact that my alarm clock is about to buzz. I’m so far beyond exhausted, and this time, it’s not pregnancy related.
No, this is all due to Cash Carson. He called me last night around ten . . . said he wanted to hear my voice before his head hit his pillow. Talk about butterflies.
However, what was meant to be a quick good-night turned into hours. We talked about everything under the sun, and eventually, I fell asleep to the sound of his voice. Which is better than any damn sound machine.
My eyes drift shut as I replay events from the past week in my mind. While the direction I’m heading in surprises me, I wouldn’t change a thing. Cash is the very embodiment of everything I’ve ever wanted. Where Taylor belittled me and made me feel small, Cash is constantly building me up. I swear, the man is one part easygoing, one part good looks, and two parts Southern charm. More importantly, though, he’s mine. All mine.
With a long stretch and a groan, I force myself out of bed. Today is a big day at the salon. We’re meeting Seraphine’s cousin, Magnolia, and I want to make a good first impression.
A quick shower, a dollop of tinted moisturizer, and a swipe of lip gloss and I’m out the door. I also detour to Dream Beans for an extra-large vanilla latte, because caffeine. I savor that first piping hot sip, relishing the way it warms me from the inside out.
Azalea’s voice comes from behind me. “Myla Rose, how did I know I’d find you here?”
“Great minds think alike?”
“That they do, sister-girl, that they do.” She pops the lid off her coffee and adds three packets of raw sugar. “So, you ready to meet Ms. Magnolia?”
“I really am. I hope she’s what we’ve been looking for,” I tell her as we make our way across the street.
“I have a good feeling about her, Myles, I really do.”
Azalea and I are sitting in the waiting area when there’s a light knock at the front door. “Come on in, it’s open,” AzzyJo calls out, and ever so slowly, the door opens.
I’m pretty sure we’re both struck dumb when Magnolia steps through the threshold. With her sun-kissed skin, dirty blonde hair, and dazzling baby blues, she’s out of this world beautiful. Like, I’m talking highest-paid, Fashion Week runway model pretty.
“H–hi, I’m M–Magnolia,” she says with her eyes glued to her feet.
Azalea and I exchange glances, not knowing quite what to make of her. I think we were both expecting Magnolia to be a mirror of Seraphine when it turns out they couldn’t possibly be more opposite.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Azalea,” she says as she extends her hand toward Magnolia, causing her to jump back. Her cheeks pinken and her eyes dart around the room, seemingly embarrassed by her reaction.
“And I’m Myla Rose. Have a seat. We’re so glad you’re here.” I gesture to the waiting area, trying my damndest to make her feel welcome and at ease. My gut, coupled with her mannerisms, tells me she’s as skittish as a foal and that we need to go slow with her.
Magnolia lingers on the welcome mat for just a moment before lowering herself into the nearest chair. “S–sorry, I’m not normally such a mess.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “At least not this much of a mess.”
“Hey, no problem. Nerves get the better of us all from time to time. Just ask Azalea over there about the time she almost peed her pants because Drake Collins laughed at one of her jokes.”
With an eye roll, Azalea scoffs. “Shut up, Myles! Jesus, I was like fifteen. Move on already.”
“No way, no how. Never gonna happen.” I turn my back on a sulking Azalea and focus my attention on the dark blonde beauty. “So, Magnolia, what brought you to Dogwood?”
She fidgets in her seat, ruminating on her answer. “Um . . . I needed a change. Badly. And with Seraphine and Uncle Dave being here, it just seemed right.”
“Well, it’s a great place, that’s for sure. We’re both lifers,” Azalea tells her with a saucy grin. “So, how long have you been doing hair?”
“Six years. But I took the last two off, so I guess four.”
“Two years off? Wow, how come?” Azalea asks.
I swear, that girl is clueless sometimes. “Ignore her, Mags. Can I call you Mags?”
“Oh, um, I mean . . . if you want?”
“No way, girl, if you want. Think on it.” The more we chat, the more relaxed Magnolia becomes. Eventually, her posture loosens, and while she’s not cracking any jokes, she’s certainly laughing at ours.
“So, let’s take a look at the salon, and we’ll show you your station,” I tell her as Azalea helps me to stand.
“Oh, I’m h–hired?”
We both look at her blankly and in unison say, “Well, duh.”
After a quick tour, she thanks us profusely and tells us she’ll get moved in this week. We wait until we see her drive away before squealing like lunatics, because even though she’s shy, she’s a perfect fit. The calm to our crazy.