Page 54 of You Found Me
Annie returned to the counter to unpack the box of dye. Della didn’t miss the way the woman avoided her gaze. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just frustrated.”
“He thinks I’m useless. He hates music. I’ve seen his face every time I sing anywhere around him. He acts like it’s complete torture. I don’t know why he agreed to take this assignment.”
Annie started mixing the dye in a dark brown bowl. “He’s drawn to protecting people when they can’t protect themselves. Stalker cases get his attention the most.”
“Why?” It was the first hint of a life outside of her case that Della had heard. “Why stalkers?”
Annie hesitated as if choosing her words carefully. “Ask him sometime. It’s his story to tell, not mine. The thing for you to know is that he doesn’t have to like you, and you don’t have to like him. Ignore his Oscar the Grouch act. What counts is that he’ll absolutely, one hundred percent have your back. We all will.”
Annie held up the bowl. “Ready for a new you?”
“Sure. Why not?” Della settled into a more comfortable position. “Red will be fun.”
A couple of hours later, Annie fluffed Della’s new hair with a pleased expression. “I think this is absolutely perfect. Sweet and sassy. I like it. It suits you.”
Della stared at the stranger in the mirror.
Shiny copper hair fell in a riot of curls around her chin. It highlighted her cheekbones. Her eyes seemed bigger, and her neck looked longer.
She pulled her fingers through a few curls. They bounced back into place without any prodding or pulling.
It was the kind of look she’d seen on cover models or girls in the movies. The sultry, sexy ones.
How was she going to pullthatoff?
Right now, she felt awkward and exposed and vulnerable, not sultry.
Okay, maybe a little sexy.
Maybe.
She rubbed the back of her neck. No hair got in the way now. “It’s…different.”
“Yes.” Annie started to put her instruments of torture back in the duffel bag. “Very.”
Della forced her attention away from her lack of hair to her face.
Her face was naked.
It was somehow worse than having her hair chopped off.
She usually wore heavy eyeliner to bring out the green bits in her eyes because she didn’t like the brown ones. She usually wore bright red lipstick because it played off her pale skin and blonde hair and made her feel powerful.
Plus, it helped her show up onstage. It took a lot of makeup to be seen under spotlights.
She liked being seen.
Now all she wore was a touch of pale pink lip gloss and a bit of mascara. That was it. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a steam room or a facial. Bare. Plain. No color of any kind.
She wore light denim jeans and an off-white tank top with tiny red and blue flowers on it. She was pretty sure Annie had found both in a thrift store. On sale.
She hated plain denim.
Her wardrobe contained a lot of dresses and designer jeans with studs. Almost everything she owned sparkled in some way.
Nothing so much as glimmered now, though her hair did have a certain glow.
Her new look could be summed up as plain. No frills. Boring. “I don’t even recognize myself.”