Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1) (4 page)

“Let’s just say I’m not exactly sober.
Camille and the girls are here. Can you meet us?”

Danica and Kaylie had grown up on the same
block as Camille Rochester, who was getting married to Jeffrey
Danber in a few short weeks. They had been inseparable as kids, but
now Danica was a twenty-nine-year-old therapist, working from sunup
to sundown; Camille, a year younger, was wrapped up in being a
bride-to-be; and Kaylie was a twenty-seven-year-old singer who
lived life like a pseudo rock star.

“It’s late, and I’m comfy. Can’t Camille take
care of you?”

Kaylie sighed. “You know Camille. She’s spent
the last twenty years planning her wedding. It’s finally her time
to shine, and I’m so sick of talking about her wedding, I could
puke. So suck it up, put on something with a little cleavage, and
meet me in twenty minutes. Please?”

“Cleavage?”

Kaylie laughed. “Yeah. You know those things
that sit on your chest? Let them show a little. Jesus, Danica, it’s
like you hole yourself up in your office and condo so often, you
don’t even know how to live anymore.”

Danica surveyed her cozy living room. “At
least I have a condo.”

“Shut up,” Kaylie snapped. “It’s the same as
my apartment, but you have a big-ass mortgage.”

“And no bitchy roommates. I have to meet
Michelle tomorrow morning.” Danica had been mentoring ninth grader
Michelle Parce for the past six months through the Big Sister
program. When she’d first moved back to Allure, she’d toyed with
the idea of opening a recreational youth center, someplace safe
where teens could gather and hang out without the constant barrage
of commercialization like a mall. She’d even thrown around the idea
of having free social services for teens—not exactly therapy, but
an ear for listening. A sounding board. Instead, she’d fallen prey
to her parents’ pressure of becoming a therapist and following the
conventional route, and her dreams had fallen further and further
away.  Spending time with Michelle recently had rekindled her
thoughts. Michelle’s mother, Nancy, was a recovering alcoholic, and
Michelle lived with her grandmother. “I can’t show up with a
hangover.”

“Whatever. Then don’t drink too much. You’d
better be here in fifteen minutes or I’m sending in the troops.
We’re at Bar None.” Kaylie hung up the phone.

Danica rued the idea of getting dressed and
going to a loud bar after a long week of emotionally draining
clients, but sending in the troops meant all the girls would show
up on her doorstep and there’d be no getting rid of them. They’d
camp out until Sunday night. She forced herself off of her
comfortable perch and headed upstairs.

Danica stepped out of the shower and wrapped
a fluffy white towel around her body. She cleared the steam from
the mirror and inspected her nose, which was no longer red. She
squinted her eyes, scrunched her mouth, moved her lips from side to
side. She puckered, as if to kiss someone, and felt a slight
painful tug on the sides of her nose. Not that kissing was even a
remote possibility with her severe lack of a social life.
Well,
then, guess I’ll be pain free tonight
.

She thought of the last time she’d even tried
to look sexy—ages ago. The image of Adonis’s muscular chest and
thick hair came back to her, sending a shiver up her spine. She’d
liked the way her body tingled when he’d spoken with a voice so
sexy it practically caressed her. She thought of the way his jeans
stretched tight over his thighs and that too-tight shirt. What did
his shirt say? Rossington? Rossignol? Was that a band? Should she
know? Was her sister right? Had she holed herself up so much that
she was missing out on life? Maybe tonight she’d sex it up a bit.
Maybe tonight she’d just play with letting herself be open to
seeing men the way Kaylie and Belinda did.

She used the diffuser to dry her hair,
silently praying for a sexy outcome. She flipped her head upside
down and held the dryer like a gun, shooting hot air through her
thick mass of hair.
Please don’t frizz
. With one swift flip
of her head, her hair fell like a long, wild Afro around her head.
Tiny ringlets sprang out in every direction. She groaned and threw
the dryer onto the counter.
Hopeless
. She headed out of the
bathroom.

Danica stood in her closet, staring at the
black, silk, knee-length dress she’d worn to her friend’s
engagement party last year, then groaned. There was no way her
extra ten pounds would fit into it. She’d been working so hard that
she never even exercised anymore. Danica’s closet was separated by
style and weight. She passed the slinky, skinny section, which she
fit into only under complete duress, when her body was so stressed
that she couldn’t eat—like when her mother visited. After Danica
and Kaylie had graduated from college, their mother had moved to a
small house just outside of the town limits—away from the memories
of her failed marriage. With Danica’s busy schedule, she didn’t see
her mother very often, and sometimes she wondered if her mother was
lonely. Unfortunately, when they did get together, Danica still
felt pressure to be the smart, responsible daughter, fielding her
mother’s questions about the potential husbands and grandchildren
she so desired; the pressure never seemed to let up, making the
prospect of visiting more often even less appealing.

She glanced at her work outfits, suits and
professional dresses, and immediately nixed them. “Cleavage,
cleavage,” she whispered. She eyed the safe section of her closet.
The safe section held the dresses and skirts that fit her no matter
how thin or heavy she was and hid her muffin top well. She pulled a
dark green, thigh-length dress from the safe section and held it
against her towel, looking in the floor-length mirror.
Cleavage,
check
. It had a nice wrap style that helped add a waist to her
no longer slim figure.
Camouflage
.

With a coy smile, she snagged the only pair
of Jimmy Choo heels she owned—her calf-hugging, black leather,
fuck-me boots with four-inch heels. The ones Kaylie had bought for
her in an attempt to bring Danica over to the sexy side. She ran
her finger over the stiletto heel and dropped her eyes to row after
row of low-heeled, comfortable shoes.
Granny shoes. Hmph
.
Maybe she had gone too far in the other direction, unsexing herself
to distinguish herself from her clients. Danica pondered the
thought as she went to lotion up her olive skin.

With her skin moisturized, her dress hiding
her extra baggage, and a simple gold necklace, she surveyed herself
in the mirror. Her boobs and hips looked in proportion.
God,
this dress does work miracles
. Her hair was a mass of fuzz,
with no way to tame it in sight. There was nothing she could do
about that; she was born with hair like her father’s, but on
steroids. Her father’s hair was coarse, like hers, with tight,
little, perfectly formed curls. The kink and curls of her thick,
dark hair were so different from her sister’s and mother’s
straight, blond hair that she always felt a bit like an alien in
her own family. But she couldn’t go there now. Kaylie was waiting
for her.

She grabbed her stiletto boots and reached
for the light switch, eyeing the perfume and licorice on the
bedside table. She hadn’t had licorice for months, not since John.
Boy was he ever a mistake. When they’d first begun dating, he’d
been the perfect mix of a professional businessman and a
spontaneous boyfriend. He’d taught Danica to loosen up, have fun,
and even take a break from her nightly review of her clients’
files. But four months into the relationship, he’d lost his job and
seemed unable—or maybe unwilling—to stand on his own two feet.
Danica found herself filling the role of therapist. Two months
later, she’d finally extricated herself from the relationship and
had quickly fallen back into her safe, careful ways. What had she
been thinking? Licorice was her after-sex go-to food. She’d had a
lot of licorice with John; at least the sex had been good, she
mused.  She threw the unopened bag of candy into her
nightstand drawer and sprayed a quick spritz of Juicy Couture, a
birthday gift from Kaylie when she was in her
we’re-gonna-get-you-a-man
stage. That hadn’t gone over very
well. Danica had spent their evenings out looking over her shoulder
for her clients instead of loosening up. Now she wondered if she’d
given herself a fair shot at a social life. One wrong man and her
profession did not necessarily have to drive her to the lonely life
of an old maid at twenty-nine. Before she knew it, she’d have a
house full of cats and be one of
those
old ladies. The
thought gave her pause. Maybe tonight she really would let herself
have a little fun.

She inhaled, smiling with satisfaction at her
image in the mirror, and headed for Bar None.

Kaylie grabbed Danica’s hand as soon as she
walked through the door and pulled her across the hardwood floor
toward the bar, where the girls had gathered. It took all of
Danica’s attention to remain upright on her fuck-me heels. Maybe
they were a mistake. When Kaylie finally stopped pulling her, she
braced herself on the bar, preparing for the onslaught of hugs that
would surely knock her off-kilter and send her sprawling onto the
floor.

Dressed in a curve-hugging, dark blue dress
with a neckline that plunged to her navel, Camille led the pack.
She threw her arms around Danica. “You’re here!” she squealed.
Stephanie, Laurie, Chelsea, and Marie were right behind her with
shrill shrieks and giggles. Danica swallowed her hatred of the
fakeness that seemed to be an inherent part of most women. Their
overly excited voices and dramatic waving of hands turned her
stomach. Sometimes it made her feel like she was a lot older than
her friends.
What is wrong with me?
Danica feigned the same
artificial exuberance and hugged the friends she’d grown to love. A
moment later she realized that she was excited to see them. Had she
been repressing her enjoyment of the social aspects of life?
Okay, Danica. Turn off your therapist brain
. She was glad
she had her stilettos on to level the playing field, because each
of these girls was younger, hotter, and more confident than she
was, especially in a bar.

Danica accepted a piña colada from Kaylie and
took a gulp to calm her overactive nerves. Bars had never been
within her comfort zone.

“We’re drinking piña coladas and pretending
we’re in Aruba.” She looked Danica up and down. “Where’s the
prim-and-proper Danica we all know and love? You look ravishing,”
Kaylie said as she slid onto a stool next to Danica.

“Like my nose?”

“What?” Kaylie laughed.

“This asshole elbowed me in the nose a few
days ago, remember? I told you about it.” Just like Kaylie to
forget Danica’s ten minutes of drama. “When I was going for coffee?
I swear. Then, he had the gall to leer at some blonde as I stood
there with blood all over my face.”

“Really? What a jerk.”

“No kidding.” It felt good to unload her
emotions on someone else for a change. Danica downed her drink and
asked for another.

“Whoa, sis. Slow down. We have hours.”

Danica looked at the other women. Camille,
Stephanie, and Laurie were impossibly skinny, with collarbones
poking out and not a speck of fat on their bare arms. Chelsea,
Marie, and Kaylie looked like perfectly formed Barbie dolls—perky
breasts, slim waists, and just the right amount of cushion in the
trunk. Each were perfect for the handsome Blake. Danica put her arm
over her stomach and reached for her drink.

Kaylie moved Danica’s arm and whispered,
“Stop it. You look great. You always worry about how you look, and
you’re stunning.”

Danica rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“You’re a freakin’ therapist and you can’t
even fix yourself. You’ve always been the exotic-looking one. I’m
like plain Jane next to you.” Kaylie touched a wayward curl on
Danica’s shoulder. “What I wouldn’t do for your hair.”

Danica took a drink.
If I had your body,
the jerk wouldn’t have looked at the blonde.

It was almost midnight when Blake finally
hugged Sally one last time and told Rusty he’d take him to his
basketball practices when he was ready to play again. He stepped
out the front door of his dead best friend’s house and into the
frigid air. The door closed softly behind him. He pulled his
shoulders up against the chill. A crushing guilt paralyzed him. He
was alive and Dave wasn’t. He stood there in the darkness, tears
welling in his eyes, and sobs that he’d held in for the past
several hours bubbling from his chest. He clenched his teeth
against the sadness. He’d seen the woman Dave loved, seen the son
he adored, hugged them, assured them he’d do anything he could to
help them through the tragedy of Dave’s death. And the whole time,
all he could think about was how it should have been him that had
died instead of Dave. It felt like a betrayal, being there with
Dave’s family. Blake had nobody waiting at home for him. He was
just a blip on the radar screen of life, and once he was gone, he’d
bet there wouldn’t be many people who would cry for him. He was a
selfish man, he realized. He’d been living his entire life caring
only about himself and his own pleasures, never looking back at the
hurt he caused others.

The woman he'd accidentally elbowed earlier
in the week floated into his mind. The appalled look in her
beautiful eyes when he’d glanced at the blonde came back to him.
Selfish
. He should have stopped Dave from going toward the
back of the mountain. He should have considered that he might
double back and take Little Hellion instead. If he’d been less
self-absorbed, he might have pushed Dave to talk about the phone
call, and then he might have realized that Dave’s frustration would
hinder his judgment.