Page 47 of The Bourbon Bet
A sharp pang of disappointment pinches me. I’d hoped we’d arrive together, but it’s ridiculous to crave those extra moments alone with Sebastian. I shouldn’t need him to calm my nerves before the event.
Shoving down my ridiculous sense of letdown, I thank Tom. Then Paige and I are whisked deeper into the spa. An employee with brown skin and eyes so light they look gold tells me that Sebastian informed them to give us whatever treatments we wish.
“I’ll just get started on hair and makeup,” I say.
Paige holds up an index finger to the spa attendant, turning to me. “We have a lot of time. Get a facial or massage.”
“There’s no sense because I’ll be tense as soon as I head to the gala.”
Paige squeezes my hand. “Don’t let those rich assholes make you small. You’re worth more than every million they have in the bank.”
“You’re ridiculous, but I love you for it.” I pull Paige into a hug. “Alright,” I say when we separate, “facials first? Then you can get a massage while they’re doing my hair and makeup?”
She agrees, and it turns out that the spa’s luxury facial includes a scalp, neck, and shoulder massage. The extras cost me prepping time, but with the masseur’s magic fingers and hands, I couldn’t care less.
“We need to schedule these monthly. No, weekly,” Paige says from the table next to mine.
The skilled therapist smooths warm, velvety massage oil over my skin, working out the knots in my shoulders, each touch sending waves of relaxation through my body. “That’s a wonderful dream,” I agree. But I don’t think these will ever be in my budget. And let me say right now, I’m regretting my life choices that led me to a place where I can’t afford them. I should’ve used my business degree to work for a Forbes Global company so I could do this daily.”
“We could combine forces. One building, but both our businesses.” Paige jokes. “We can call it Baked Books.”
I laugh. “That sounds like an accounting firm for crooks.”
After a moment of relaxed silence, Paige asks, “How are things going with your bookstore? Anything promising?”
“I have an appointment with the SBA next Tuesday,” I reply. “I hope they’ll offer some guidance and help. Just in case, I’m also applying for grants.” Mystomach twists. “It’s only three weeks until derby, and I need to have my financing options figured out before then.” My internal clock is ticking like a bomb. Every day that passes pulls me closer to an impossible choice.”
“You got this. I feel it in my bones.”
Paige’s certainty is contagious. “You’re a fantastic baker, but you’d have made a hell of a Life Coach,” I tell her.
A warm towel is placed on my neck. “There’s no rush,” my masseuse says in his calm, quiet cadence. “I’ll wait outside while you both get ready. Afterwards, I’ll walk with you to hair and makeup.”
“What are you going to get done next?” I ask Paige. “I’ve heard a body scrub is amazing.”
“Nah, I want to come with you. See the transformation,” she says, sitting up.
I do the same. “Are you sure?”
Paige nods and a weight lifts from me. I touch her shoulder. “Thanks. I’d love your help. I have no idea what to do with hair or makeup.”
We are taken to a private room that has one of those electric massage chairs. That lessens my guilt about Paige passing up primo self-care. As soon as we settle in, the pretty spa attendant from earlier returns along with an older white woman with glossy black hair. She introduces herself as Sade, telling us she is the stylist. She looks more like a yoga or triathlon instructor.
I soon learn that Sade is kind, patient, and very good at her job. She takes the time to explain evening makeup and what would look best with my coloring. She also gives easy tips for everyday wear. And though I’m not used to such bold makeup, the final result is amazing.
The same is happening with my hair. The three of us decided on a crown braid. Sade is nearly finished with the style, and I’m already in love with it.
“You are such a pretty palette to work on,” Sade says through a mouth of bobby pins, placing another in my hair. “I thought you looked great after makeup. You are flat-out stunning with this up-do. The epitome of elegance.”
“I just want to fit in. Not make a fool of myself.” The gentle tugging of the brush through my hair is oddly soothing, each stroke transforming my locks intoa work of art. It lessens the nervous energy tingling through me. Kind of. I shake out my hands, accidentally bumping Sade and knocking a thin comb to the floor. “Sorry,” I say.
“Honey, you’ll fit right in.” Sade picks up the comb and lightly taps my ear with it. “And they’re just people, trust me. I’ve been making them look beautiful for years, and the stories I overhear would make your hair curl.”
“Want to share?” I hold onto the sides of my chair to keep from fidgeting. “And preferably one that showcases the fact that they don’t have perfectly polished, totally figured out lives.”
I’d told Paige of my fears of standing out like a hillbilly at a ball. She’s probably tired of my whining. Since Tom drove us to Glamorous Gowns, she’s had to listen to my litany of worries.
“I could tell you one about the man you’re going to this gala with…”
