Page 49 of Hold Me Today

Because unlike what most parents do for their children when they don’t want to see them hurt, mine never hid that I was the outlier in the family. Not outside the house, of course, where they maintained their uppity, holier-than-thou act—but within our home, where both Katya and Dimitri were allowed to flourish and find their way, I was . . . controlled.

Picking a wall color feels like the greatest gift. A miracle that I still managed to find my path, despite being held back for so many years. A miracle that I refused to let my learning disability get the best of me, even when my father quietly, in that awful, reserved way of his, insinuated that the problem was all in my head and that I simply didn’t apply myself hard enough.

Getting here, achieving the dream all on my own, is nothing short of a miracle.

Fate’s tipping hand, even after being dealt bullshit card after bullshit card.

Quietly, I sort through the paint chips and hold them up, one by one, and try to imagine them onAgape’s walls. And, one by one, I narrow down the possibilities. Canary Yellow calls to my rebel soul but isn’t the right fit. It goes in a pile with the other misfits. I pick up another, a muted gray, and slowly read over the printed name at the bottom of the chip: Reflection. Appropriately titled, maybe, but a little too morose for the salon of my dreams.

Beyond the window, the record store across fromAgapefloods with light and I spot the manager meandering through the aisles. I’m convinced it’s the only remaining music store in the city, and, as I have every morning since moving in, I raise a hand and wave. The manager waves back, then goes on his way.

Happiness floods my chest. This right here, this is my life and it’sperfect.

No, perfect was Nick Stamos almost kissing you last night.

My heart skips a beat.

That almost kiss, that tight embrace he wrapped me in, was better than any sex I’ve ever experienced. I’m not sure what that says about the men I’ve hooked up with, but it probably reflects more on me than it does on any of my casual flings.

I lift Reflection up once more, giving it a second thought, then add it to the pile with Canary Yellow.

Sifting through the paint chips, I come to a pretty one that straddles the line of gray and lavender. It’s the perfect blend of elegant and feminine. With a darker accent wall to complement it, I can easily see this color painted throughout the salon. Plus, isn’t lavender supposed to promote a calm atmosphere?

Pulling it closer to my face, I give myself a moment to study the letters. As a kid, reading of any kind sent me into a blind panic. The words blurred, they danced across my vision like a Whack-A-Mole evading the gavel; they gave me hell until frustration warred under my skin and in my soul, a constant battle ofmaybe-you’re-just-dumb, and I gave up.

Like this salon, I’ve come a long way since then. Words no longer terrify me, and if someone has a problem that it takes me an extra moment to read the options on a menu or a long-winded text, then that’s on them. Sorry, not sorry.

I sweep a cursory glance over the letters on the paint chip, absorbing them as a whole instead of individually as I once did, and whisper, “Elation.”

Sounds like a winner to me.

Hell, I feel pretty elated about life right now.

Happy bequeaths happy—that’s pretty much the mantra of my life.

I stick Elation in my binder of Wants for the salon, then check my phone. It’s after eight now, and my ass is sore from sitting on the concrete floor for so many hours. I’d sit for another four if it means I can continue watching the world outside my window.Mywindow. Man, I don’t think I’ll ever get over how good that feels.

My phone vibrates, and I glance down to see that Effie’s texted me.

Oh, boy. Last night I fled the Stamos household before she had the chance to have the come-to-Jesus talk I knew she so desperately wanted to have with me. She’s obviously worried about Nick and me, and it’s not that I’m slamming the door on her concerns. She’s not wrong: her brother wants the whole shebang and I . . . well, I want what I have now. A quiet morning that belongs to me, watching the shops lining Bow Street come to life. I want to live on my own terms by my own rules without a heavy hand to ensure I comply with rules designed to hold me back.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to Nick or that I haven’t been attracted to him for years now. And I can’t, no matter how much it would appease Effie’s worries, ignore how insanely giddy I feel about the prospect that Nick may find me attractive too. I mean, talk about wishes cast on shooting starsactuallycoming true.

We’re both adults. Assuming that last night wasn’t a fluke, shouldn’t a fling be a mutual decision between the two of us? I trust Nick to know his own mind, just as I know mine. I’m not going to be dick-tranced into changing my decision about a husband and kids.

Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself.

Sigh. Yeah, maybe that too.

Wealmostkissed, but we were also standing on a dark, empty street with no one to judge us or to question our motives. It’s possible that he was only caught up in the sexually charged moment, but can’t the same be said for me? I never would have been so bold if I hadn’t—literally—seen his jean-covered erection only last week.

The way I look at it, Nick and I will have to talk at some point about what happened, and then we’ll set down the rules. And, knowing him, he’ll have a spreadsheet and approximately fourteen bullet points, all detailing the risks and potential hazards of a no-strings attached fling.

Call me ruthless, but I can’t wait to see his expression when I rip his precious list to shreds. He needs someone who’ll yank him out of his shell, and I’m more than woman enough to do the job.

Tapping my phone awake, I pull open Effie’s text, only to see that she messaged me a link to an article from a site calledCelebrity Tea. I cringe, then cringe again when I spot the bolded byline:Nick Stamos, America’s Heartbroken Bachelor, finds Love with Unknown Woman.

My stomach sinks.

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