Page 102 of Aria

“It was a mess,” Noah had said, pulling his guitar strap over his head. Beads of sweat had rolled down his face, his hair stuck to his forehead as he kept his distance from me.

He never once looked at me that night.

I’d wanted to shake him for it. I’d wanted to pummel my fists against his chest until hesawme. I’d wanted to scream that what we had was still there… it was just buried beneath the layers of baggage and dirt and piss-poor decisions.

It had felt like I was six feet under, and if I’d just kept digging and clawing, a ray of light would penetrate through the heavy soil. Noah would be waiting for me. Things would go back to the way they used to be, and I would have my friend back.

I would be home.

But I hadn’t done any of those things. “It wasn’t that bad,” I’d replied.

It had been a weak response, not alluding to any of the things I’d been feeling, or to the novel of words on the tip of my tongue. I had bitten down hard on that tongue, as if to punish it for its failure.

Noah had continued to fiddle with his guitar as the rest of the guys muddled around the small back room. “Well, thanks.”

That was it. That had been our only correspondence. Devon couldn’t wait to get out of there, so he’d guided me out the back door and to his car.

I chewed on my fingernail, making a mental note to get a manicure before the Grammy’s. Brisk January air bit at my nose as I walked through the local downtown, tightening the scarf around my neck while looking in through storefront windows. I was desperate to clear my head. I’d kept myself locked up for the past week because of Ian’s unknown whereabouts, making myself stir-crazy.

Even though it was a frigid twenty-two degrees outside, it was exactly what I needed—the refreshing outdoors. Inhaling big gulps of air, I traipsed along the sidewalk, dodging small patches of ice along the way.

I stopped in my tracks when I came upon a charming-looking hair salon, peering in through the foggy glass and debating whether or not I should go inside. I’d been considering a new look for myself… a change. Change was always good.

Change had saved my life once.

“It’s rude to stare. C’mon inside!”

I stumbled back when the door opened, and a middle-aged lady poked her head out. She gestured enthusiastically with her arm.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m still thinking,” I explained, stuffing my glove-covered hands inside my coat pockets.

“Well, you’re not getting any warmer thinking on that side of the glass,” the woman said. “Take a break from the cold and have a cup of coffee.”

Smiling, I nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

The salon smelled of warm blow-dried hair and orange honeysuckles. I breathed in the aroma as I began to remove my coat.

“Here, let me. I’m Lilah.” The dark-haired woman in stylish black suspenders pulled the jacket from my hands and hung it on a nearby hook. “I’ll get you some coffee. Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, please. Thank you,” I replied, looking around the small salon. Two washing stations, two dryers, and four salon chairs adorned the quaint space, perched on both sides of the room. Another stylist was already tending to a client, chit-chatting about her holiday break. The large sign above the check-in desk read “Bliss Bar.”

Lilah returned a few moments later with a hot mug of coffee in her hands. It wasn’t one of those disposable cups I’d been expecting. “Careful, it’s pipin’ hot,” she warned. “It’s a dark roast. Hope that’s all right.”

“It’s perfect,” I said with an appreciate gaze. “You have a cute place here. I’ve never noticed it.”

“We just opened last month,” Lilah answered, leaning over the waiting area’s coffee table and shuffling through the assortment of magazines. She picked one up and flipped through it, licking her thumb as she plucked over the pages. “This.” Lilah folded the magazine in half and handed it to me.

I glanced over the model with a medium-length, angled bob and bangs. It was a bold cut for someone who’d rarely done anything with her hair. My hair was strikingly long, ending just above my hip bone, all one length with no dimension. The extent of my hair routine was letting it air-dry, or pulling it up into a messy bun.

This haircut looked fierce and sexy. It looked like I wanted to stand out instead of hide.

“I kind of like it,” I confessed, the corners of my mouth tipping upward. “It’s… different. I think I need different.”

Lilah gave me a knowing smile. “You’re that girl on the news, huh?”

I blinked a few times as I registered the question. “Um, yes. I mean… probably.”

“You’re dating that musician, right? Imagine Dragons or somethin’?”

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