Page 31 of Strung Along
ANNALISE
Wednesday morningsat the salon are typically always slow. Most days are in a town this small, but we can usually make do. It’s Wednesdays that have us filling the time between clients with cleaning and rearranging and gossiping.
Wanda’s music plays through the speakers like it always does. She typically chooses an upbeat pop-style playlist, but today, country music plays. It’s a nice change for once, and not a single one of us complained when we arrived at work this morning.
The owner of the salon is hardly a few years older than me, and while she was born and raised in Cherry Peak, I’ve learned from the town gossips that she doesn’t tend to stick around for too long before she’s gone again. She didn’t hesitate to give me a job here the day I asked for an application, even though I doubt there was demand at the small salon for another employee.
Rumour has it that Wanda’s the daughter of Lee Rose, one of the most successful country stars in history. She’s never confirmed or denied the rumour, and whether it was her choice or not, they don’t share a last name. Having such a famous father could explain her lack of financial worry when it comesto keeping a full house of employees with hardly any income coming in, but it’s not my business. I like her just fine either way.
Speaking of the devil, she shouts at me from the back room, “You can take lunch if you want, Anna!”
The other girls are gone on their lunch breaks already, but I stayed behind, still full from the two breakfast sandwiches and cup of coffee Bryce dropped off at my place this morning. She’s been bringing me breakfast every second day for the past two weeks on her way to town hall. I’ve never had anyone make a point of bringing me food in the morning or stopping by with lunch in the afternoons, but between Bryce and Poppy, I’ve been . . . taken care of.
The pain in my chest lessens every day, and the memories of Stewart and our relationship fade with each new one I make in Cherry Peak. Moving on from heartbreak is never easy, but surrounding yourself with people who care about you and want to see you happy sure does make it easier.
“Not hungry!” I swipe the cloth in my hand over the front desk and then set the keyboard back in its place. Twisting the cup of lollipops back around so the front of it points at the entrance, I add, “Are you going out?”
“Got a salad in the minifridge. I’m good,” she replies.
I blow out a breath and grab the cleaning supplies from the desk, bundling them in my arms before putting them back in their proper cabinet along the far wall. As I walk back to the front, the door flies open, and the bell above it jingles through the salon.
“Hi! Do you have an appoint—oh. What are you doing here?”
I set a hand on the front desk and pop my hip, staring Brody down where he stands with one foot inside the salon. He’s wearing a cowboy hat again, his dirty-blond hair curling beneath it. His boots are dirty like the last time I saw him, but his jeans look clean. The T-shirt he has on is plain and black and tightenough that the sleeves hug his biceps when he tucks his hands into his pockets and steps all the way inside, letting the door shut behind him.
Devastatingly handsome. That’s what he is.Dangerously so.
“Can’t say I’ve ever had such a warm welcome at a salon before,” he quips, taking his hat off to shake out his hair. The movement draws my eyes, snaring them before I can grapple for my self-control.
“I’m honoured to be so many of your firsts.”
Impatience ticks across his features, making me look away. “Wanda here?”
“She is.”
A quirk of his brow. “Can I talk to her?”
“Is she expecting you?”
“No.”
I shrug, shifting my weight to one foot. “She’s a very busy woman.”
“Are you really goin’ to make me walk back there and get her myself?”
Without tearing my gaze from him, I shout, “You have a visitor, Wanda!”
“I’m stepping out for lunch!” she shouts back.Liar.
Pushing out my bottom lip, I tell Brody, “Seems you’re out of luck, big guy.”
“Whatever,” he grunts, and then he’s attempting to move past me.
I slide into his way and plant a hand to his chest. His eyes widen before dropping to where I’m touching him and then crawling back up again. That stupidly good cologne fills the air between us. The hard muscles beneath my fingers thump harder and harder, and I realize with a start that it’s his heartbeat. As quickly as I’ve touched him, I retract my hand, dropping it to my side.
Clearing my throat, I ignore my burning cheeks and say, “You’re not dirtying the floors I just cleaned with your muddy boots. Take them off first. I’m assuming you want Wanda to cut your hair?”
“She always does it.” His voice is deeper than usual, his annoyance with me blatantly obvious.