Page 64 of Return To You

I lunge onto the couch. “Sure!” I call out, my voice raw. I clear my throat. “What’s up?”

The door cracks open. “Your next appointment is here,” Claudia says softly. “But she’s early. I’ll tell her to wait.” She leans deeper in the door opening. “Oh-oh.” She slides inside, closes the door after her, and sits next to me.

I take a comforting sip of the coffee, and Claudia smiles. “Good. For a minute there, we thought we’d made a mistake in letting him leave the mug here.”

She strokes my hair, then pats my thigh. “You wanna talk about it?” Claudia is older, just a few years younger than Mom. She has a tough life, with a no-good husband and two teenagers she’s raising on her own. My troubles are nothing compared to hers.

“It’s really nothing.” I shake my head. “I can’t wait for him to leave Emerald Creek,” I whisper. “It’s just too hard. A long time ago, I thought he was the love of my life. And then…” My lip trembles, so I just stop talking. After a deep breath, I add, “I just don’t ever want to see him again.”

She shifts uncomfortably on the couch. Clears her throat. “About that—”

“Hello? Anybody here?” Ethan’s low rumble messes with my core.

A female voice somewhere in the spa says something, and before I can gather myself, the door to the break room opens after an unceremonious knock on the door. “Oh, sorry,” Ethan says to me, then turning to Claudia, “Where d’you want all the stuff?”

Claudia jumps to her feet and they both leave the room as if I wasn’t even there, closing the door behind them. There’s the sound of cabinets opening and closing, boxes shuffling, stomping. I finish my coffee—it’d be a shame to let a Maple Kiss go to waste just because of Ethan—use the bathroom, and freshen my makeup for the second time today.

There. Whatever Ethan was doing here, he should be gone now. And it’s time for my next appointment.

I square my shoulders and step swiftly into the heart of the spa, the vast waiting area connecting the entrance and reception to the treatment rooms. Designed for the female customer in need of me-time, it’s a haven from everyday life, with its dimmed lighting, feminine touches, and soft music.

The baby blue, deep couch with fluffy white pillows and the softest throws is typically the seating of choice for anyone. It’s more than just inviting or relaxing; it’s luxuriously indulgent. At the moment, however, it’s empty.

My client is seated in the more rigid but still comfortable velour wingback chair, her bare feet propped on a tiny ottoman covered in faux fur. Next to her, on the smaller of three nesting tables, her organic loose-leaf tea is brewing in an artisan mug. Going by the scent wafting to me, she chose lemongrass. Good choice—though it doesn’t seem like she’s touched it.

Likewise, she’s ignoring the high-end fashion magazines carefully fanned on the higher tier of the nesting table. She’s not on her phone either.

She is, however, deeply absorbed by the observation of the built-in ornate bookshelf displaying the products for sale, located directly in front of her. Her arms wrapped around her knees, she watches in rapt attention as Ethan—Ethan!!—unpacks a box of serums.

He places them, per the instructions he’s holding in his hand and that I typed myself, two-and-a-half inches apart, staggered on the shelves, so there’s a sense of abundance yet airiness. “How does it look?” he asks Fabrizio.

His gaze jumps from Ethan’s ass to the display. He stands next to him. “Great but—shouldn’t you differentiate by type?”

“What type?”

“Serum Number One, Serum Number Two, etcetera. Then Forever Cream Number Twenty-Four, Forever Cream Number Thirty-Seven, etcetera.”

“F—okay. Lemme see.” He pours over the sheet again. “Is she gonna notice?”

“I think she already did,” Fabrizio whispers while I whip around to Claudia. “What is he doing here?” I hiss.

“He insisted.”

“But-but-but… how? Why?”

“Just keeping busy until you’re available to talk,” Ethan says, his back to me, still carefully lining product on the shelves.

My belly does a little somersault as his voice ripples over me. I turn to Claudia.

She tells me a complicated story about the delivery that got lost somewhere. Fabrizio, Hope, and Shanice being booked, Cheyenne being off, and Ethan insisting he make himself useful.

Ethan hands the last box of products to Fabrizio. “Are you available to talk now?”

The air seems to vibrate with the inquisitive glares of all who are present. It looks like they’re taking sides. And it’s pretty clear they’re Team Ethan. At least Shanice and Fabrizio are, judging by the way they cross their arms as they stare me down.

Well, I’m Team Grace. And nope. No. I am not ready to talk.

I glance at my client.

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