Page 126 of Something Forever

“Yes,” she replies, giving nothing away.

“What did she say? Does she like them? Does she hate them? Should I stop?”

“Goodbye, Liam.”

Abbi hangs up before I can ask any further questions. I shake my head, frustrated. Still, I ponder her suggestion and find myself reluctantly agreeing with her point. The letters were meant to be a gesture, a vulnerable showcase of the depth of my feelings. She knows how I feel, so I don’t have to keep reminding her. Tomorrow isn’t about us, it’s about Whitney.

My girl needs me to show up?

I’ll show up every single day.

I had no idea what to expect for a grand opening of a salon, but when I get to All Rhodes, the place is packed, people milling about with mimosas or sitting in salon chairs with hairdressers running their fingers through their hair.

It looks amazing. I knew that Whitney spent a long time working with the interior designer to make the place stand out, but I didn’t expect it to look like this. The entrance is like a garden, filled with plants and bright light that give the place an airy, welcoming feel. Beyond that, the chairs and vanities are a sea-foam green, channeling a more classic 1950s look. It’s a perfect blend of modern and vintage, and it feels so indescribably Whitney.

Glancing around the room, I pat at my thighs nervously. I don’t see Whitney anywhere, but I find Abbi across the room. She meets my eyes with one eyebrow raised, a challenge in her gaze. I offer her a small wave, and she pats Shane’s arm, gesturing towards me. They cross over to me, the air thick and awkward between us.

Shane breaks the silence with a small smile. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Been better.” I glance around, still searching for Whitney. “Where is she?” I ask, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.

Abbi sighs and glances around. “In the back.”

I move immediately to head towards the back of the salon to find her, but Abbi stops me, laying a hand on my arm.

“Remember what I said,” she says. “This day is about her.”

With a sharp nod, I slip away and weave through the crowds of people, ignoring the smiles from a few familiar faces and going straight to the back of the room. Taking a deep breath, I push open the door.

Whitney is standing behind a desk, rifling through a stack of papers. She looks beautiful. She’s wearing a soft pink blazer with matching pants, her hair slicked back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t seen her in two weeks, but I swear she’s glowing. When she hears the door shut, she sighs, a heavy, frustrated sound.

“Sharon, where did you put the invoices for the?—”

She inhales a sharp breath as she glances up, shock coloring her features as she realizes it’s me standing in the doorway. I take a hesitant step towards her, taking her in.

“Hi,” I whisper with a soft smile, my hand going automatically to the nape of my neck. I’m not sure if she’s going to kick me out or start yelling at me, but she just eyes me warily for a long moment before speaking.

“Hi,” she replies.

The sound of her voice fills me with warmth. I want to reach for her and wrap her in my arms, but instead I fiddle with the hair at the base of my neck, my fingers itching anxiously.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her, my voice scratchy. I clear my throat, trying to find steadiness. “How are you feeling?”

She swallows, her throat bobbing as she glances away from me, breaking our eye contact. “Good. Overwhelmed, but good.”

I nod, tapping my fingers against my thigh. “That’s good.”

For a moment, neither of us speak.

“Everything looks amazing. I can’t believe… I mean, I can believe it. You did a fantastic job, Whitney. You should be so proud.”

She pulls her shoulders back, straightening. I expect her to make some excuse or try to downplay what an achievement this place is, but she nods her head, agreeing. “I’m very happy with how everything turned out,” she says, meeting my eyes with a soft smile.

I try to hide my flinch at the deeper meaning in her words, praying that she’s talking about the salon and not us. She seems to see it anyway, her brow furrowing.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I glance away from her. “Well,” I manage. “I just wanted to tell you what a fantastic job you’ve done. Not that you need me to tell you that, but I’m really glad I could see it. I know how much it means to you, and it’s really special, Whit.”

“Thank you.”

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