Page 9 of Chasing Home

I contemplate loading the spoon beside my plate up with syrup and flicking it at her before turning the idea down. “Yeah, I get it, smartass.”

She cocks her head, smirking. “Your hair is getting a bit long.”

“I know.”

“So, you should get it cut.”

“Where is this conversation heading, Daisy?” I ask.

She huffs a breath, annoyed. “You said she works at the salon, right? So, go get your hair cut. She has to talk to you then. And if not, well, then I suggest you take the L sooner rather than later.”

I jerk forward in my seat, a rush of excitement shooting through me. “You’re a goddamn genius.”

“Yeah, I know.” She brushes invisible dust off her shoulder. “Now that that’s settled, can we focus on something more serious? Like the upcoming season of The Bachelorette?”

I nod, too grateful for her help to put up a stink with this. “You got the list of contestants to share?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her phone out of her pocket while I dig into my eggs. The next several minutes are spent scrolling through the men up next in our favourite reality show before I snake the bill and settle it. Daisy thanks me with a kiss to my cheek, and by the time I walk her to her car and make her promise to drive safe back to our mom’s house, I’m wondering how hard it’ll be to convince Anna to sneak me an appointment at Thistle and Thorn tomorrow.

3

AURORA

Mom: Good morning. This is me asking for sign of life again.

Me: I’m alive.

It’s the only answer I can get myself to give her.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket immediately after hitting Send. The bottles of shampoo on the shelves in front of me have begun to blur. Labels upon labels, brands upon brands. They all do the same thing, in my opinion, but the customer up front demands one with a price tag that lets me know she’s not struggling in the finance department.

I find the deep blue bottle of shampoo with a fancy label tucked behind a row of grey ones and snatch it from the shelf. Bryce finished inventory quickly yesterday, but obviously, she isn’t as anal with the order of the shelves as me. I could spend hours organizing supplies until everything is perfectly laid out, whether in alphabetical order or sorted by colour. Maybe both, if I have the time to burn.

The bell above the front door chimes, and I leave the storage room quickly, hoping my lack of pep in my step hasn’t sent a customer leaving without what they came here for. It’s still hard for me to comprehend that Anna can make a living here in Cherry Peak with a population so small, but from what I’ve seen, she isn’t struggling in that department. Somehow, there never comes a day where she isn’t either busy with clients or chatting up a customer who’s curious about something. Just yesterday, a woman came in from Edmonton, having driven five hours just for a cut and colour.

I’ve been tempted to ask her to fit me into her schedule for a trim, but from my inches of dry, dead ends, clearly, I haven’t.

My sneakers hit the floor in quick procession as I round the corner and paste on a smile for the customer I left waiting. Only it isn’t just the customer anymore. Not by a long shot.

“I’ll have to give Daisy a call, Johnny. Thank you so much,” the woman who asked for the shampoo coos, a hand decked out in a long-tipped french manicure sweeping over the exposed skin of his bicep.

The same half-white, half-tan, rippling-with-muscle bicep that shows only because he decided against wearing a shirt with actual sleeves today and instead wore one that’s torn at both shoulders to expose a hint of his obliques, as well. A goddamn DIY tank top that’s tucked into the front of his tight jeans and behind a belt buckle the size of my fist.

His hair is long, wavy, and so, so black. It’s kept half hidden beneath a dark brown cowboy hat instead of a filthy baseball cap like the night we met, and suddenly, all I can think of are the words he spoke into my ear the moment I mentioned it.

“There’s a rule when it comes to a man settin’ his hat on a woman, Aurora.”

I fight back a familiar shiver and straighten my posture before letting the bottle hang at my side as I walk past the two of them to the front desk. Ignoring the burning side-eye coming from where I know Anna’s standing at her station, I walk a bit faster.

Everyone that was at Peakside the night I let Johnny pull me out of the booth and into his arms for far too many dances has clung onto the moment with steel claws, refusing to let it drop and move on. Anna and Poppy especially. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told them that it meant nothing until finally, they stopped bringing it up, their hopes crushed. I know that doesn’t mean they believe me in the slightest, though.

It’s fine with me if they don’t. I know what it meant, and that’s that. It meant DANGER in all caps with red lights flashing. It was a warning not to ever allow myself to fall into that position again because it’s not what I came here for. Even after only a few minutes in his presence, I knew everything I needed to.

That he would be bring me nothing but utter heartbreak.

That night was my first time ever meeting the outgoing cowboy that the girls said would be in attendance at the bar, and I wasn’t expecting what I found.

From the moment he appeared at the edge of the table with a giddy, confident glint in his eyes, I knew I was in trouble. It was obvious that I should have taken off. But I didn’t. Johnny has an uncanny ability to yank you into his orbit without warning, and once you’re there, it’s nearly impossible to break free. Which is why the moment I could, I did.

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