Page 30 of Beautiful Mess

Getting my nails and toes done every two weeks is one of my favorite forms of self-care. Every other Wednesday, like clockwork, I take a lunch break and walk across the street to Cutesie Nailsand spend an hour relaxing while being pampered.

Sitting in the massage chair, with my Kindle neglected in my lap and my feet soaking, I rest my eyes while I wait for my nail tech to come over. I stayed up way too late last night, bingeing a new show on Hulu while I drank entirely too much wine, and I’m paying the price today. Not only am I sleep deprived, but I’m a ball of nerves. Blakely has gymnastics tomorrow, and if the math I’ve done in my head is correct, Conway has his daughter this week, which means I’ll most likely have to see him there.

It’s been a handful of days since we had sex, but we haven’t spoken since. I briefly saw him at drop-off yesterday morning, but we were both in our cars, and I looked away before he could notice me looking at him. To be completely honest, the idea of having to face him after what happened fills me with dread. He shows up, acting like a damn caveman after my date, and instead of telling him to get lost and go inside, like I should have, I sat there and argued with him before letting him fuck me where anybody could’ve seen us. My cheeks flame at the thought.

I’ve spent the last four days racking my brain, trying to understand what came over me, but I come up blank every time. It’s like when I’m in Conway’s vicinity, all sense of logic and clear thinking vanish. It’s maddening, and I wish I could figure out how to make it stop. This…thing between us isn’t going to end well; I can feel it. He’s about as allergic to commitment these days as anybody I know, and I’m not cut out for casual. Roan Chappell had it right when she said, “I try to be the chill girl, but honestly, I’m not.” She is me, I am her.

I’ve replayed that night an embarrassing number of times, cringing at myself harder each time. I called him “Daddy.”What the hell was that?Aside from Ethan, strictly when talking to the kids, I’ve never called a man that. Ever. I didn’t even think that was something I was into, but I fear…it is. At least when it comes to Conway.Gosh, the way he effortlessly held up my body weight as he fucked me was so sexy. And the way he kissed me, as if he was trying to erase the memory of Winston kissing me outside of his car, like the two could even compare, and the rough, animalistic way he owned my pussy, claiming it. Claiming me. I can’t get over it, and that’s inconvenient. I need to get him the hell out of my mind and move on with my life.

Thatcannothappen again.

Even though I really,reallywant it to.

Once was already too much. If I let him inside my body again, I’ll for sure catch feelings, and I can’t do that. Doing that would only hurt me in the end.

By the time they’re done with my nails and toes—they’re painted Bubblegum Pink, which is one of my favorite colors of all time—I’m not less relaxed than I was an hour ago when I walked into the salon. Go figure.

Stepping outside after I pay, I let the sun soak into my skin, warming me. The nail salon was a little too chilly today, and since I’m wearing short-sleeves, I spent the entirety of my appointment covered in goosebumps. The sound of a car door closing pulls my attention to my left, and my heart leaps into my throat when I spot Conway stepping onto the sidewalk. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s picking up lunch for his crew since the deli is next to the salon, butmy gosh, I don’t want him to see me.

No. That can’t happen.

I’m not ready. I know I have to put on my big girl panties and face him tomorrow at practice, but that’s future Grace’s problem.

Looking both ways, I quickly dart across the street before he has a chance to spot me. I probably look ridiculous, running in a pair of wedges like my pants are on fire, but I don’t care. I step into the bakery, letting out a relieved breath before heading behind the counter to get back to work.

That was close.

* * *

Apparently, I didn’t learn my lesson this morning because I am, once again, parked in front of my television, binging more of this show I can’t seem to get enough of while working on my secondlargeglass of wine. The kids went to bed about an hour ago, something I should’ve also done, yet here I am. I’m a glutton for punishment.

Finishing the rest of my wine, I get up off the couch and meander into the kitchen for a refill I definitely shouldn’t be having. A regular of mine picked up a large order of cookies and cupcakes this afternoon for an open house she’s hosting, and she brought me a bottle of Rosé as a thank you. So naturally, I have to drink it tonight. It would be rude not to.

Back at the couch, I notice a new notification lighting up my screen. I assume it’s either Georgia or Charley in the group chat we started this week to plan Gemma’s engagement party, since Everett popped the question over the weekend in the most romantic, adorable, swoony way. Swiping it open, I press play on my show. When I glance down at my phone, my heart stutters when I realize it isn’t Georgia or Charley at all.

In fact, it’s the last person I expected to send me a text.

Conway: Hope you didn’t hurt yourself this afternoon.

What the hell?

I take a sip from my glass, then set it down between my legs as I thumb out a response.

Me: Pardon?

The message shows read immediately. Who the hell keeps their read receipts on these days? I chew on the skin around my thumb nail as I watch the bubble appear as he types out a response. Why would he be texting me out of the blue, and at—my eyes lift to the time in the top left corner of my screen—almost ten o’clock at night?

My heart leaps into my throat when the phone vibrates in my hand with his response.

Conway: When you were crossing the street in front of your bakery. You didn’t think I missed that, did you?

Letting my head drop back onto the couch, I groan. Of course, he saw me. Why wouldn’t he?

Me: Hmm, weird. I didn’t see you.

Conway: Sure, you didn’t, Sin.

Me: Hate to break it to you, but I’m a busy woman who doesn’t have the time to scope out everybody on the street.

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