Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
There was always more.
Not even Delaney had denied the things she’d been witness to behind the church walls when Gracen asked years ago.
“I knew you’d be hurt,” Delaney said with a slap of her hands to her thighs, “so I wasn’t going to tell you, if I could help it. Just because some people think you’re over Sonny doesn’t mean you really are. I was trying to take that into consideration here, that’s all.”
“Or you didn’t know how to tell me that you couldn’t say no to your baby cousin, so here we are.”
In typical Delaney fashion, her best friend shrugged. “Or that, too.”
In her shorts and sports bra, with her blonde hair pulled into a high messy bun that could reach her backside if let down, Gracen only felt slightly bad about the fact that they should have been across the river to let their co-worker in the salon but here the two still stood. Nowhere near ready.
As if on cue, Delaney’s phone rang with a familiar tune—the one belonging to Margot. She gave everyone a different ringtone which made it impossible to hide who was calling unless it was a new or unknown number.
“We’ve got to get ready for work,” Delaney said. “Can we get back to this later, or ...?”
Gracen rolled her eyes and stepped back, her shoes squeaking on the floor as she spun around on the spot. “Remember when we opened the first salon, and you said the best part about being your own boss was making your own hours?”
“Yeah, but that was—”
“You lied.”
Delaney laughed. “Everybody does, Gracen.”
Yep.
Even to themselves, apparently.
Chapter 2
The old courthouse—a three storey monster with beams two feet thick holding up the floors—barely looked recognizable to its former glory on the inside. Gracen and Delaney kept the oak floors but stained them the same dark cherry as the beams that stretched across the ceilings. Matching the building’s support beams jutting up from the floor to ceiling spread twelve feet apart with two rows of four. Those beams continued through the second floor where it supported the third, a square gallery that overlooked what had once been the courthouse.
Now, the second floor—bare of the benches and seating that had been sold in an antique auction shortly before Gracen and Delaney signed their names to the mortgage—was used for Margot’s aesthetician and piercing studio.
It had been beneficial when Delaney suggested they fill the second floor with something other than chairs for other stylists to rent. They already had an extra two on the bottom floor where they rotated students from the nearby town’s beauty school where they gained practical hours, and the salon took a fifty percent cut of their earnings. No chair rental on top. The same offer was made to Margot when Gracen approached the twenty-eight-year-old who’s beauty parlor had been closed because the church didn’t like sharing their view on the hill with an aesthetician and piercer.
Money could make anything move, it seemed. Even an almost ten-year-old small business who had continued to fight against the bullshit town ordinances for non-existent infractions that kept showing up on Margot’s door until her long-term landlord finally had enough.
Thankfully, Margot had the clients. The very nature of their business allowed them all that privilege. Ask a man in his golden years about his barber—or a mom of three who kept her same cut and color for years. Their customers were loyal for a reason. Beauty was a very personal business that came with a lot of trust and respect.
Gracen and Delaney provided the space where Margot could do her thing, and without question, the choice had been a good one.
Beyond, really.
Gracen was having second thoughts about saying so while Margot leaned in the doorway of the stairwell that led up to her studio and stared her employer down while she tossed back a few pieces of popcorn.
“Something’s definitely wrong,” Margot muttered around her food.
She’d already pointed out the tension between Gracen and Delaney earlier when the two arrived late, and in separate vehicles. Something that was foolish and unheard of for them. No doubt, her first clue that things weren’t right between the best friends. Clearly, their denials and desire to get a start on their fully booked workday hadn’t been enough to throw Margot off the scent of trouble.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Gracen said. “That’s disgusting.”
Margot rolled her eyes and swallowed her remaining popcorn. “Okay, Mom.” She crushed the bag she’d come downstairs to pop while Delaney used her thirty-minute lag between clients to run for coffee and tossed it into the glossy faux-marble trashcan next to Gracen’s station. “But you’re bullshitting me. Something’s wrong. I’ve been listening. Stuff from down here travels upstairs, and you know it. You’ve barely spoke to Delaney all day, and you guys didn’t even have any students working in the salon today to hide it.”