Still, after four years of focused routine, change was hard. “There’s more hair on the floor than on my head,” Chrissy noted while contemplating the consequences of
derring-do
. Damn Bella and her surprisingly inspiring quest. Her mellow cousin’s bold actions poked at Chrissy like a double-dog dare.
“Let it go,” Angel said. “And I’m not just referring to your hair.”
“If you’re suggesting I forgive the dickhead who turned his back on his own daughter and threatened my parents’ livelihood to boot, forget it.”
“I wouldn’t presume. I’m talking about your grudge against music. Turning your back on your gift won’t change Melody’s circumstance.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“You know why.” She’d explained her decision to family and friends over and over until she’d grown weary, ultimately refusing to discuss the subject at all. Usually everyone steered clear. Usually. The A&F Festival always stirred up dust swirling around Chrissy’s forsaken passion.
“I get it,” Angel said. “And I don’t. I want to respect your decision, but I can’t. You’re an insanely talented musician, Christmas—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“We must’ve heard close to twenty fiddlers at the A&F Festival and none of them held a candle to you.”
“Says the lifelong friend and my biggest fan. Thank you, but—”
“You’re not only depriving yourself of your passion, you’re depriving the world.”
Snip, snip
. “And Melody. I know you don’t like to talk about this, but now that I have you captive so to speak, I’ll have my say.”
“Are you threatening to shave me bald if I don’t resume my musical career?”
“At least allow yourself the pleasure of playing for the fun of it.”
“Except it isn’t fun. The thrill is gone.” She couldn’t look at her violin without thinking of Mason. About their affair and his betrayal. About her shattered musical dream. She’d hoped to land a gig with a philharmonic orchestra. To live the life of a concert violinist. But that would mean relentless rehearsing and performing. That would mean living and breathing music—melodies, harmonies, and rhythm. Sounds that would be forever alien to Melody. Chrissy’s thoughts drifted down corridors of regrets, what ifs, and if onlys. God, she was sick of wallowing in the past, but writing it off hadn’t set her on a happy trail either. Oh, to be more like Bella who always made the best of the worst.
“Okay. You’re done.”
“Thank you for recognizing and accepting that.” Music was toxic to her soul. End. Of. Story.
“I’m talking about your hair. Just a dab of product and a quick blow dry.”
Oh
. “No fancy styling tricks?”
“Nope.”
Chrissy downed the rest of her wine while Angel finger-combed goo through her hair. She thought about asking for a second glass. She was anxious about her new style and rattled by the talk of past passions. Her music and Mason. Thankfully, instead of pursuing the subject, Angel fell silent while blasting Chrissy’s head with hot air. Would she look like a wanna-be rock star? A shaggy golden retriever? The anticipation was killing her. Setting aside her glass, she palmed her phone and checked for messages.
Zip
. “Have you heard from Bella?” she asked.
“No. You?”
“No. They’re probably doing it like monkeys,” Chrissy said while tucking away her phone. “Which would explain us falling off her radar. Who thinks about friends when you’re circling Mars?”
“You’ve circled Mars?”
“Haven’t you?” Chrissy frowned when Angel didn’t answer. “You’ve loved twice,” she prompted. “Married twice. Surely you’ve had mind-blowing orgasms. Stars shattering. Planets imploding.”
“I’ve had lots of orgasms,” Angel said.
“So you’ve circled Mars.”
“I don’t know that I have.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Chrissy thought about it and, yeah, she’d had lots of orgasms, too. Some by her own hand. Some compliments of her second boyfriend, albeit many moons ago. She’d only circled Mars with Mason. But at least she’d circled Mars. It was a sensation and experience that exceeded the typical climax. One she associated with all-consuming love. Angel had loved twice without ever glimpsing the red planet? It made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, Angel had yet to meet her true love. It made her think about Ryan. About his secret crush on Angel. Two lonely, big-hearted people who’d make a perfect couple. If only he wasn’t married.
“Zeke told me that Lacey moved out of her and Ryan’s house yesterday.”
“Georgie told me the same thing,” Angel said. “Officially separated. Again.”
“Maybe the third time’s a charm,” Chrissy said. “I hope Lacey files for divorce because I don’t know that Ryan ever will.”
“She’s raked his heart over the coals so many times, I’m amazed it’s still beating.”
“That’s because it’s so flipping huge. Just like Georgie’s. Unlike Georgie, Ryan won’t shut his down. He feels sorry for Lacey and you know how protective he is of Sienna. He’ll keep on forgiving if that’s what it takes to hold the family together.”
“I’m not sure he’s doing Sienna any favors by cutting Lacey so many breaks. If you ask me, Lacey’s a pretty suck-ass mom.”
“No pretty about it,” Chrissy said, her heart firing up in defense of her friend and his daughter. “Lacey’s self-absorbed and shallow and…don’t get me started. All I know is that Sienna deserves better. Ryan, too.”
“Someone like you?”
Chrissy blinked just as Angel switched off the blow dryer and spun her chair around to face the mirror. Her mind juggled a double whammy as she stared at her reflection, digesting her new look and Angel’s bizarre observation.
“Either you really love it or really hate it,” Angel said. “You look positively stunned.”
“You think I’ve got the hots for Ryan?”
“What? Oh. Well, yeah. The thought crossed my mind. You two have always been close.”
“He’s one of Zeke’s best friends!”
“Yeah. So?” Angel shrugged. “I thought maybe it was a slow build to burn. Like with me and Baxter. It’s obvious you admire him—”
“Who doesn’t?”
“And you’ve been talking about him a lot lately. Sienna and Melody get on really well, and Ryan’s handsome and responsible, and, well, maybe almost free of Lacey. I thought this makeover… You have to admit the timing…”
Chrissy didn’t know whether to laugh or blush. “I’m not trying to attract Ryan’s eye or interest. We’re friends. Period. Besides, he’s too wrapped up in you and… Oh, shit.”
Now Angel gaped. “Ryan loves Lacey.”
“Ryan puts up with Lacey.”
Angel held Chrissy’s gaze via the mirror. “They’re married.”
“Hence why he hasn’t made a move on you. Ryan’s a good man. Lacey may not have a conscience, but he does. If they end up divorced though, I suspect it will only be a matter of time before he comes calling.”
Angel frowned. “I don’t want him to call.”
“Why not? You said it yourself. Ryan’s handsome and responsible and—”
“I’m jinxed.”
“What?”
“I’m serious, Chrissy. I don’t want to encourage Ryan’s interest in any way. If you’re playing matchmaker here, please stop. And don’t fan his infatuation or curiosity or whatever it is because I can’t go there.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t believe this. How long… No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Dammit.” She poured herself a glass of wine and drank half of it in one swallow. “Who else did Ryan confide in? Zeke? Georgie?”
“I don’t know. I doubt he told anyone. He didn’t confide in me, as you put it. He slipped. A one-time mention that he told me to forget.”
“I wish you would have taken his advice.”
“Sorry.” Really she was. “It—”
“Slipped. Got it. Let’s just…forget it.”
“Can you?”
“I’m going to try.”
Chrissy watched while Angel threw back the rest of her wine, confused as to why she was so upset. Bothered by her “jinxed” reference. Angel rarely mentioned the rumors pertaining to her twice widowed status.
Marrying Angel is the kiss of death—literally
. A totally ridiculous crack, so why take it to heart? But apparently, she did.
“I like my hair,” Chrissy said, feeling like an ass for giving up Ryan’s secret and causing Angel distress. Now her friend would no doubt feel awkward every time she and the good sheriff came face to face. Ryan would notice and eventually Chrissy would have to admit her indiscretion.
Damn
.
Angel rolled back her shoulders, shaking off talk of Ryan, and focusing on her efforts. “You look fabulous, if I do say so myself.”
Grateful that Angel allowed her to change the subject, Chrissy made a show of mugging in the mirror. “I look edgy.”
“Yup.”
“And sort of hot.”
“Mega hot.”
Chrissy ruffled her silky choppy locks. The longest ends grazed her shoulders. Most ends stuck out every which way. Bold cut. Carefree aura. She smiled. “I did this for me, by the way, not a man. I’ve been in a rut.”
“I think we’ve all been feeling that way lately. In some form or fashion. Hitting or nearing our thirties. Floundering or feeling unfulfilled. Like there must be more or should be more to life.”
Chrissy gave a mental fist pump.
Yes, yes, and yes
. “Do you think Emma will really leave Nowhere?”
“I think it’s inevitable.”
“It would be pretty awesome if this thing with biker dude turned into a happily-ever-after for Bella.”
“Yes, it would.”
“If Georgie gets a job in Whitney, she’ll probably end up moving. Her car’s not up to the daily commute and she’s disillusioned with the dating scene in Nowhere.” Chrissy glanced at Angel who was pouring more wine. “Why do I feel like this is the beginning of the end for the Inseparables?”
“Don’t think of it as the end,” Angel said as she passed a glass to Chrissy. “Think of it as evolution.”
Progressive change. Change that would promote a better life for Melody and maybe more “me” time for Chrissy. Over the last week she’d become hyperaware of her cynical, bitter disposition. She felt ugly on the inside and indifferent on the surface. She’d taken a couple of small, positive steps today. Supporting Bella’s infatuation with Savage. Embracing a radical new haircut for herself.
Feeling lighter in multiple ways, she smiled at her reflection then smiled even bigger at her friend. She clinked her glass to Angel’s, silently committing to a happy-ending for both of them. Somehow. Some way. Goodbye wallowing. “Viva evolution.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rather than sit downstairs and sulk, Bella gathered up her manuscripts, stuffed them back into her folder and traipsed upstairs to unpack. Unsettled by their harsh parting, she sporadically glanced out the window. She saw Savage speaking to her dad and then her dad puttering off on Little Red in the direction of Funland. She saw Savage slip into his studio, Killer trotting alongside. She expected him to roar out of the barn on his badass bike because he was sure in a funk.
He didn’t.
Instead, she assumed he’d turned his attention to the custom paint job Tank had sent his way. Like Bella, Savage seemed to take refuge and joy in creating magic. Another sign that they were well suited.
As much as Bella was tempted to peek in, she kept her distance. Patience was key. She’d begun to liken Savage to a wounded animal. He’d been traumatized in some way and the only way to get close was to earn his trust. Respecting his boundaries seemed the swiftest course. As much as she wanted to pry, as much as she wanted to slap a bandage on his scraped and bruised soul, she’d let him come to her.
She dialed up a country rock playlist on her iPod and resisted checking the clock as she transferred clothes from her suitcase and boxes to the closet and bureau. She set up her laptop on the desk in the corner. Unpacked a few linens and toiletries. She was placing a few late-night reads on the nightstand when she heard a knock.
“Am I interrupting?”
Bella’s heart skipped at the sound of Savage’s voice. It skipped again when she turned and saw him standing on her threshold. Gorgeous and sexy and uncharacteristically hesitant. “Just making myself at home,” she said with a gentle smile.
“I’m glad.” He angled his head, looking pleased, but perplexed. “No second thoughts?”
“What? Just because you didn’t connect with my stories?” She’d been disappointed and, okay, a little hurt, but at least he hadn’t insinuated she was wasting her time. She’d been more concerned by his cynicism regarding children. “I appreciated your honesty.”
“Your tolerance is staggering.” He ran one hand through his messy hair. “Let’s try this again.”
He moved into her room and, thinking he wanted to talk, she muted her music. When she turned back he handed her a rolled page of heavy-weight paper. It looked like he’d torn it from a spiral-bound sketchpad. Bella’s heart pounded as she unfurled the paper.
The drawing was exquisite.
A pencil and charcoal rendering of a winged horse soaring through the air. Sitting astride the mighty creature was a fierce looking man wearing a dark, long coat that whipped behind him like a cape flapping in the wind. A sword with an intricate hilt was strapped on his back. She’d seen a similar image a dozen times in her minds-eye, but never with such vibrant intensity.