Page 3 of Dahlia Made A List

“Sixth sense, I guess”

“Women’s intuition is a powerful thing. ’Bout time you started tunin’ in.”

Intentional or not, the older woman’s reminder that Brandon was a mistake in a long list of mistakes rankled. “Yep, definitely dialed in now.”

“You going to talk to him?”

“I don’t know what the point would be.”

“Well, sugar, the relationship gurus would say it’s to have closure.” She flipped the page on her magazine with a loud snap. “Me, now, I’d talk to him. To truly mark the momentous occasion.”

I snorted. “Yeah, momentous, alright. Maybe if he was the first man to cheat on me. Seems I have a type.”

“You’re not celebrating his actions. You’re celebrating the day you changed your ways.” Another page flip. “When’s the last time you thought about what you want?”

“When I moved here to Weston Mill, I guess.”

“And then you met that waste of a fella and forgot all about yourself again.”

I set the last of the foil in Ms. Minerva’s hair with trembling fingers. She spoke the truth. I’d come to Weston Mill determined to turn over a new leaf, but I’d dropped into the same pitfalls I’d had at home as soon as Brandon showed me a little attention. And as usual, my preferences became my boyfriend’s preferences. My plans, his plans. You want scrambled eggs for breakfast? Wow, so do I.

I probably should be sad at the demise of another relationship. Heartbroken and torn up with the hurt of his betrayal. Instead, disappointment in myself put the tremble in my fingers. Embarrassment put the flush in my cheeks.

I was so damn tired of making the same damn mistakes.

I walked Ms. Minerva over to the dome dryer, before returning to my stall to tidy up. Why had I fallen into the same stupid behavior I’d been trying to escape? My list of ex-boyfriends was a mile long. Obviously my catering to them didn’t result in a healthy relationship. You’d have thought I’d have learned my lesson by now.

While Ms. Minerva finished up under the dryer, I finally checked my phone. A million texts and missed calls from Brandon flashed across the screen. Before I could swipe to open them, the cell rang with an unexpected number. My landlord. My heart thumped against my ribs.

“Hello?”

“Got a situation down here at number 26.”

I swallowed. My apartment. “A situation?”

“Got a man I never signed a lease with down here demanding to be let inside my property. Raising enough racket that three of your neighbors saw fit to interrupt my day. Seeing as neither his, nor, more interestingly,mykey works in this here lock I do not remember installing . . . ” He sighed into the phone, long and annoyed. “Yeah. I’d say we have a situation.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Weston.”

Minerva’s head popped up, curious eyes narrowed on me. How she heard me under the blower on the other side of the shop, I didn’t question. “That my grandson?”

I ignored her and concentrated on the man on the other end of the call.

His irritated growl sounded in my ear. “Sorry doesn’t make this dickhead disappear.”

I closed my eyes. No, regretting a thing definitely didn’t make it go away. “I’m finishing up with a client and then I can come home. I walked in this morning, so it’ll be close to an hour, I think?”

“See you in an hour.”

Silence on the other end. I looked at the face of my phone and saw he’d ended the call. Chewing my lower lip, I hustled over to Ms. Minerva. “That was my landlord. I sure hope your hair’s ready.”

She pushed the dome up and rose, leading me to the sink. “You rent a place from Wyatt?”

I nodded, pulling the foil papers from her hair, smiling despite everything at the pretty waves of sky blue and silvery gray. “The upstairs of the pretty blue shotgun house a few blocks down on Redbud. He’s waiting for me. I guess Brandon showed up and caused a ruckus.”

The rental was easily twice the size of anything I could ever afford in Richland and smack in the middle of Weston Mill. The renovated turn-of-the-last-century home had an open floor plan, with the front door spilling into the middle of the apartment, one side leading to the kitchen at the back, the other my bedroom at the front. I loved my rental. If Brandon got me kicked out, I would do so much more than toss his crap in the yard.

I shuffled Minerva over to my stall. I let her hair slip from my fingers when the older woman leaned to pull her phone from her purse where it sat on the counter. “I’m going to send you an address,” she said, fingers flying over her phone. “Be there at seven tonight. Bring a bottle of your favorite wine.”

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