Page 125 of Catching Sparks

“She’s being far too nice. You look like a fucking grandma,” I tell her.

Working at the tiny city office doesn’t have a single perk that would make dressing in a pencil skirt made from scratchy fabric that hardly even shows a slip of ankle worth it. But it was an easy job for Bryce to get, considering her father is Cherry Peak’s current mayor, and the town isn’t really flooding with other openings.

The dress code must have been enacted while I was gone because I’ve never seen her wear something so hideous before. Dress pants and a cute blouse, yes, but not . . . this.

“The collar on the shirt hides my favourite tattoo,” she grunts, tugging it aside to show the blooming willow tree that crawls up her right collarbone and toward the hollow of her throat.

“What’s the point of the whole prim and proper look? There are what, three people that go to the office a day?” I ask.

She scowls. “If that.”

“I was going to ask if the office had an opening of any sort, but now, I’m not so sure it’s worth it,” Anna says.

My brows scrunch as I focus on her. “Has something happened to the salon?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve just been asking around town for any openings literally anywhere. I had a new client the other day who just moved to town and needs a job. I’d take her on at the salon, but I’m not quite ready for anyone else yet,” she explains.

“She just moved here?” Bryce asks, scowling at the sleeves of her white button-up blouse as she tries to tug it up to itch at her wrist.

Anna picks up on it, too, and chokes back a laugh. “Last week, I think. Into the house on the corner of Third that’s been for rent for as long as I’ve been here.”

“That place is a death trap. Haunted, too, by the looks of it. Nobody’s lived there since before we were even born. It’s falling apart,” I say, concern for a nameless woman taking root inside of me. “Do you have her number or anything? Maybe we should all introduce ourselves. Make her feel welcome, you know?”

“Like you did with me,” Anna says softly.

My chest warms. I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “Just like we did with you. And look at us now. Three peas in a pod.”

“It’s two peas,” Bryce corrects me but doesn’t turn the idea down.

I brush her off. “You can fit far more than two peas in a pod. That’s a ridiculous saying.”

“You know what else is ridiculous?” she asks, steering us into a direction I’m immediately cautious of.

“What?” I play coy, avoiding her eyes.

“Sit down, Poppy. It’s time to spill every single bean you’ve been keeping in your can.”

Anna bursts into laughter a beat before I do. I gasp a breath, eyes blurring with tears as I howl into the studio. My stomach muscles are sore by the time Anna’s croaked words cut through.

“Never . . . say . . . that . . . again. Never.”

Bryce’s cheeks pinken as she glares at the both of us. She all but stomps toward the pink couch I have in the corner of the room beneath the Beautifully Bold neon studio sign. Tossing herself down on one of the three cushions, she fixes us beneath a glacially cold blue gaze.

“Sit,” she orders.

“Fine.”

Anna offers me a sympathetic smile before we sit on the couch, flanking Bryce. The little devil chose the middle seat on purpose so I’d be forced to answer her questions instead of hiding behind Anna.

“Garrison told me you packed my suitcase for me, so clearly, you don’t hate him as much as I thought you did,” I say after a moment of uncomfortable silence, each of us waiting for someone else to speak first.

“It was that or let you go naked, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate that while you were still upset with him,” she mutters. “Besides, I’ve never hated him. I’m just cautious of him. For good reason, might I add.”

“I think it’s safe to say we were all cautious of him,” Anna says.

My mind zeroes in on a single word and focuses on it. “Were?”

“I’m more curious than anything else, I think,” Anna says.

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