Page 3 of One Night Rendezvous

"I can teach you," Ashley offers as she comes back in with a container, holding a brush and a bunch of other shit that I have no idea what it is. "You can come over, or I can go over there, on second thought. You probably have more chairs, and I can show you how to do a couple of simple hairstyles."

"Okay." I sigh, rubbing my sweating palms on the worn thighs of my jeans. "I'd appreciate it."

"No problem, really. You need a haircut, girlfriend. Let me text Lizzie and see when she can get us in. I need one too."

The excitement in Felicity's eyes is enough to hit me deep in the chest. "Thank you." I mouth over her head.

Ashley grins. "No problem." She says it with a shrug as if she does this shit every single day.

Within minutes, Fee’s hair is done, and all three of us are heading out the door. "Tell Ashley thank you again." I tilt my chin over to the woman who's made our day.

She runs over, throwing her arms around Ashley's legs, hugging tightly. "Thank you so much, especially for the bow." Her hand goes back to where a ribbon is tied at the top of her ponytail. "It makes me feel pretty."

"That's because you are." Ashley wraps her arms around my daughter. In that moment I wonder what the fuck I'm doing, and how I'm going to make it living next door to this woman who's apparently got Felicity wrapped around her little finger.

THREE

Ashley

It’s been two weeks since the Great Groundhog Incident. In that time, I’ve managed to get myself a crappy job and fall completely in love. Mostly with Felicity but her hot, single dad is a close second. How could anyone resist her? With dark hair and her daddy’s ebony eyes, she’s too beautiful for words. But those eyes are so damn sad that I can’t stand it.

That little girl is breaking my heart. He’s doing all he can. He’s giving her a loving, stable home. I know that. But if it hadn’t been for my Mamaw, I’d have been Felicity. Oh, not with a dad who gave a shit, but struggling to fit in, struggling to feel the kind of confidence that kids need not to wind up as targets in public school.

I know Ford gets that, and God love him, he’s trying. But little girls need a woman’s influence. They need a daddy’s love and a mother’s guidance, or it leaves a big hole that they’ll fill with all the things that will beat them down in life.

The alarm on my phone dings and I let out a sigh that sounds like I’ve tapped into a deep well of misery. I have. It’s called cashiering at Hell-Mart. The convenience store has been run by the Carpenter family for years, but the older generation have retired and left the younger generation to run it. That’d be fine, if I didn’t loathe the very ground that the younger generation in question walked upon. Gina Carpenter-Daniels. The former mean girl who made my life a living hell is now my boss. She only hired me so she could tell all the ladies at her church how—despite our past bad blood—she’s doing her good Christian duty and keeping me out of the homeless shelter. But it’s a job. It’s money coming in instead of just going out and right now I can’t afford to be picky.

Climbing out of my car, I trudge in past racks of candy and cheap sunglasses, and head straight to the back. I dump my stuff in the office and then go to the time clock. I’ve got exactly one and a half minutes before my shift starts and I stand there watching it count down. I’m not giving her a minute more of my life than I absolutely have to.

“Petty bitch,” I whisper to myself. It’s not an insult.

“Ashley, who are you talking to?”

It’s all I can do not to let out a groan. I turn around. “Just reminding myself about something I need to do when I go home.”

“Well, you can do that on your own time. Clock in and go relieve Janet. She’s got kids to get home to.”

And there it is. The ultimate dig at every single, childless woman. Your time has no meaning and no value because you haven’t squeezed out a kid. “I’m not late, Gina.”

She stops and turns back to me, a clipboard in her hand and a pen tucked into her messy bun so she looks just like the secretary in our high school did. The same secretary, I might add, who was doing the principal and the football coach.

“Are we going to have a problem, Ashley? You needed this job a heck of a lot more than we needed you. If you don’t want to work, you can go anytime. There are a dozen girls I could call up who are looking for a way to make ends meet.”

That’s the hell of it. She’s right. I do need the job. And I can’t afford to let my pride fuck it up for me. “No. You’re right. I am grateful for the job, and I’ll leave my crappy attitude behind and get to work.”

Gina smiles. “Good girl.”

Like I’m a fucking cocker spaniel who didn’t piddle on the rug.

It’s been a hellish day. Every single person who came in was either indecisive, a gambling addict who obsessively bought scratch-off lottery tickets or just in a foul-ass mood. But I’m heading into the last hour of my shift, in the home stretch, when the bell over the door sounds. I look up and realize this day truly can’t get any shittier. Of all the people to walk in, it has to be my damned dad.

“Ashley, baby girl. I didn’t know you’d started working here,” he says with a grin that shows off his veneers. They’re new. I wonder if the money from selling Mamaw’s house helped pay for them.

“Well now you do.” If Gina wants to take issue with me providing crappy customer service to my own father she can just fucking fire me. That’s a hill I will die on. He doesn’t deserve to have politeness from me.

“Don’t be like that! You know that thing with Mama’s house—well, you just don’t get it. A house is a big responsibility, and you’re just not ready to take that on.”

I’d been doing just fine for the last seven years. I’d been taking care of that house—fixing what was broken, maintaining the lawn, paying the bills—since I was eighteen. That’s a cop out and we both know it.

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