Page 8 of Torrid Love
“It’s freaking expensive and I’m only a freelancer. I’m still saving,” Holly explains.
“To her point, New York was ridiculously expensive—”
“No more than San Francisco,” I interrupt Zoe.
“Which is why I’ve never been,” both Zoe and Holly answer in unison.
We all laugh.
“In any case, the Big Apple was a dream come true,” Zoe says. “Granted, I haven’t traveled abroad, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing quite like it in the world.”
“I can attest to that. Europe is rich with culture, art, food and fashion, but cities like New York and Los Angeles are unparalleled,” I say.
“Speaking of fashion, I still can’t get over how amazing you look.” Zoe has been marveling at my new look since I arrived.
“It was time for a little change,” I say.
“Little?” Zoe’s head jerks back hard, sending her brown hair flying all over the place. “Had I not been expecting you, I would never have recognized you.”
“Oh, come on,” I brush her off.
“You need a new mirror,” Holly states.
“See? I’m not the only one,” Zoe says. “With the new hair, you could rival any Hollywood starlet. The stunning strapless dress is vavavoom. The heels are so unexpected for a girl who practically lives in Converse shoes. And the more daring makeup is so sexy.”
“Thank you,” I say shyly.
“I agree with everything she said,” Holly grins. “What brought on the change?”
“There comes a point in life where you have to be willing to let go of your shackles,” I say.
Zoe and Holly frown their confusion, their brown eyes just staring at me.
“Just before I left Europe, I treated my cousin Johanna to a day of pampering at her favorite spa to thank her for allowing me to stay with her and her husband while I was visiting.” Thank God I didn’t have to stay with my mother. “After six weeks away, I looked like I had jumped out of an eighties music video because my roots were showing big time. Johanna’s hairdresser suggested I stop fighting Mother Nature. I did.”
“Good call,” Holly says.
“What I love the most is your willingness to showcase your ink out in the open,” Zoe says reaching out for my arm.
I pull it away, like I always do. It’s a knee-jerk reaction I can’t seem to help. I’m still not comfortable with the scars.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s nothing,” I say. The look of remorse painted on her face fans my guilt, but I’m in no mood for a long explanation. “Cake?” I veer the conversation. “It’s red velvet!”
“Yes, please!” Zoe and Holly exclaim.
“Should I top up our glasses?” I ask.
“Absolutely!” they answer in unison.
I bought Zoe a nice bottle of champagne from Europe for her birthday.
“Did you bake the cake?” Holly asks.
“God, no. I don’t want to poison Zoe on the eve of her thirty-fifth birthday,” I laugh.
Holly and Zoe join me.
