Page 82 of Dust Storm

I wasn’t certain he could turn off the “dad mode.”

I slid out of the passenger’s seat as he opened the door and ushered me onto the sidewalk. “Sure you’ll be alright?”

I laughed. “What’s the worst that could happen here? Barney Fife will arrest me for jaywalking?”

He cracked a smile. “Alright, smart ass. See you in a bit.”

I pretended to walk down to the beauty parlor while Christian drove off, then scurried over to the standalone mail collection box. I pulled a thick, white envelope out of my purse, double-checked the address, and dropped it in the slot without so much as a breath of reflection.

It was over.

And I wasn’t sad.

I was relieved.

Why wasn’t I sad again?

I mused on it as I pushed open the door to the hair salon and was assaulted by the smell of perm solution and hairspray.

I chewed on my nail as my hair was shampooed and conditioned. I worked it over and over in my mind as I sat under the dryer, half-eavesdropping on the two moms in the chairs beside me.

The writing had been on the wall for a long time.So why had I stayed with him?

I put myex-fiancé out of my mind and focused on the conversation that was going on between the stylists.

When I worked for Hollywood’s annoying elite, I’d take the temperature of the public by—well—snooping.

Go to the places where people simply talk for the sake of talking.

My nails were always done, my hair was always flawless, and I always lingered a little longer than necessary when picking up my morning coffee.

Small towns were no different.

Want the good gossip? Find a hair stylist.

“Alright, fancy,” Amanda said as she whisked away the cape. She was a peppy thirty-something hairdresser who stepped in and saved me from a beehive done by the elderly owner.

“You’re all done.”

I waved away the fog of Aqua Net and studied my reflection in the mirror. To my surprise, it wasn’t givingentertainer of the year.My brassy blonde hair had been toned in the shampoo bowl. She had given me smooth, old Hollywood waves. It was vintage and soft, but still savage.

“Now,” Amanda said as she looped her arm in mine and waltzed toward the front desk to check me out. “Go next door and get gussied up. Dab on some perfume samples if you don’t have any in your pocketbook.”

I lifted an eyebrow as she ran my card. “How did you know I was going over there?”

She snickered and nudged her glasses up with her knuckle. “Honey, you don’t honestly believe Christian Griffith can drop a woman off at my salon without an audience, do you?”

I added a tip to the receipt and handed it over. “Is this a regular occurrence?”

She gasped. “Heavens, no. That’s why we’ve gotta get this one right. Now hurry on. You don’t want him to catch you with half of a face on. Also, you need a trim. Next time he lets you off that ranch, give me a ring.”

Amanda practically shoved me out onto the sidewalk, where someone else grabbed my arm and dragged me into Blush & Bashful.

The entire store was a nauseating shade of pink that made me think of diarrhea medicine.

I was nearly body-slammed by a woman in her sixties. She had bangs bigger than Mount Rushmore, eyeshadow that was the color of the blue liquid they use in pad commercials instead of just showing blood, and coral lipstick that was all over her teeth.

“Absolutely not, Nadine. Hands off the blonde.”

---