Page 70 of Charmed, I'm Sure
I’d love to, sis. Trust me.
With a heavy sigh, I nodded. “Goodnight, Addy.”
“Night-night,” she sing-songed, throwing a finger wave over her shoulder as she walked back into the house.
With Addy gone, I was once again left with my thoughts—only this time, worry edged every single one. Gossip would eventually trickle out and die. But what do they say about a picture? That it’s worth a thousand words? I had a feeling that pixelated image of Mags and me would be worth a lot more than that in this podunk town we called home.
Life’s about to get real, indeed.
18
Holiday hangovers
Holidayhangoverswereathing, right? They had to be. Because there was no other reason for the fatigue dragging me down, making me want to crawl under my desk atCharCutieand take a nap. Groaning, I let my head fall onto my folded arms and blew out a heavy breath.
“What are you doing?” Jaelyn’s familiar voice drifted in, laced with a sigh. I didn’t even have to look up to know she was standing in the doorway.
“Solving world hunger, obviously,” I muttered, my voice muffled by my arms.
Silence. The kind that carried an exasperated glare you could feel.
“Wallowing, Jae,” I clarified, lifting my head just enough to meet her unimpressed gaze. “I’m wallowing.”
“Why?” she asked, drawing the word out as her boots clicked against the tile. She crossed the small office and dropped into the chair across from me.
Pushing back into a sitting position, I shrugged. “Not really sure, honestly. Woke up in a messy-depressy mood. Plus, the shop is basically dead today.”
Not to mention the fact I hadn’t heard from Taylor since the night before Thanksgiving—five days ago. It was official: I was a lovesick puppy pining over a stupid boy. Or maybe just a “like-sick” puppy, because I wasn’t going there.
“Uh-huh. Get up.” Jae stood abruptly, motioning for me to do the same.
“Why?” I hedged, raising a confused brow as she stared me down.
“Because you’ve been wallowing for days, your hair’s a mess, and we’ve got menus to plan and shopping to do for that party next week.” When I didn’t budge, she huffed, rolled her eyes, and rounded the desk to tug me out of my chair. “I made you an appointment atBelle Amourwith Greyson to fix…” She waved vaguely at my head, her lips pulling into a disapproving scowl. “That.”
“What? What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Mags, sweetheart, I say this with all the love in my heart.” Her hands landed on my shoulders, caramel eyes soft but edged with a tough-love gleam. “Your roots are almost two inches long, you’re leaning more toward muddy water than vibrant cotton candy swirls, and your ends are so split I could see them from across the room.”
“Ouch, Jae. Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”
Her brow quirked, and I quickly amended, “On second thought, maybe don’t.”
“Your appointment’s in forty-five minutes. Throw on some mascara, swipe on a little gloss—something to make you look less like you rolled out of bed at one o’clock on a Monday afternoon—grab a coffee fromThe Magic Bean, and get your ass over to Greyson’s.”
“Jae, I don’t have time to—”
“You’re going, Magnolia Lynn.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You haven’t made time for yourself in far too long, and if I have to walk you there myself and wait outside the door, I will.”
She wasn’t bluffing, and we both knew it. But it also meant closing the shop early—not that it mattered. Business had been oddly slow today. Our usual Monday rush had turned into a trickle, which wasconcerning. I had a sinking feeling Sophie had something to do with it.
With a heavy sigh, I looked to the ceiling and groaned, “Fine.”
“Atta girl.” Jae patted my shoulder and pulled me into a quick hug before exiting the office.
I stood there for a moment, the silence deafening when there were usually voices filling my little shop. Blowing out an aggrieved breath, I made my way toward the mirror on the wall and winced. Jaelyn hadn’t been wrong. Actually, she’d beenniceabout it. I looked like a Mother damned bridge troll—a trash panda. Even Mother Gothel at the end ofTangledhad me beat.
Spindly strands of hair stuck out like hay from my bun, there were dark circles under my eyes that I was pretty sure concealer would laugh at, and—great—a zit the size of Mount Vesuvius had taken up residence on my chin. Groaning again, I pulled the elastic free, letting a tangled mess of faded, orange-tinged pink and Old Gregg blue tumble over my shoulders. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to renew the enchantments on my hair. Every four weeks, like clockwork, I respelled it to refresh the color, seal the ends, and bring back its bounce and wave that I could only achieve with magic—hot tools werenotmy friend. Now it was just… sad.
