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)
And not the one that opened its doors to all.
From afar, it might be hard to tell the two eighteen-year-olds apart. They were about the same height with a similar shade of dirty blonde hair that wasn’t quite as light as Gracen’s own wheat-gold locks. Longer than even Gracen’s hair when she let it out, the younger ladies hid their feet and feet of hair with flawless chignons. In modestly cut black, long-sleeved dresses that didn’t show off their figure and swept their ankles, the only thing different between the two were the red and blue shawl each wore tossed around their shoulders.
As the rumors went, after marriage, they could dress in something other than black, but until then, the only color women and girls were allowed came in their accessories. Something else Gracen had been told the church was known to control. Respectful—but not loud—bags, scarves, and shawls were permitted. No jewelry, of course. Not even wedding bands were permitted. Modesty was key, which would be fine, if it didn’t seem like the entire congregation looked exactly alike when lined up in rows.
At some point, it got creepy.
If not a little concerning.
Not that Gracen was ever rude enough to say it out loud. She kept those thoughts—as judgemental as they sometimes felt, even if she had a good reason to be more than a little wary about the tabernacle on the hill—to herself. Not everything needed to be said when certain things spoke for themselves.
Delaney sat in her swivel studio chair holding what looked like printer paper—although Gracen couldn’t see what had been printed on them—while the other two young ladies nodded between one another. About something Gracen couldn’t hear, but she tried to keep that from bothering her too much. They didn’t notice her approaching the station directly across from Delaney’s, but her friend did.
Margot lingered in the entry to the second-floor stairwell but said nothing as she observed the newcomers, and Gracen’s suddenly quiet demeanor.
Delaney, who had taken note of Gracen when she swept up the remaining items on her station to put them in their respective homes, told her guests, “Sure, we can do these—here, you keep them until we need them, all right? I’ll only need a quick glance to know who is doing what.”
“Sure, we’ve got a whole binder for everything to keep all the details straight,” said one of the girls.
Delaney’s cousin.
The other one, Alora, added in a chirpy voice, “I really appreciate you doing this for me. It’s one less thing to figure out.”
“No big deal. It’s just a favor for Bex. I’m sure you could have found—”
“Someone else to do twelve girls’ hair for practically nothing? Not likely.”
The natural bristle comb Gracen had been cleaning fell from her hand and landed to the shiny metal top of her workstation with a loud clang. She didn’t want to make it seem like the noise was purposeful, so Gracen acted like nothing happened and finished tidying her station as Delaney said goodbye to her guests. It was only once the bell overtop of the entrance door chimed that Gracen broke the silence in the salon first.
“I thought you were just helping with some things?” she asked quietly.
From the side of her gaze, she could see Margot still in the same spot. Silent, and watching.
“I was going to get around to telling you—” Delaney tried to say.
Gracen didn’t even want to hear it. Swinging around, she grabbed her bag that hung from a hook on her workstation and headed for the front door without explaining where she was going or why the sudden change in her mood.
It wasn’t needed.
Delaney knew.
“If you’re really over Sonny, it shouldn’t matter if I help my cousin with his wedding or not!” Delaney shouted at Gracen’s retreating back.
She’d almost reached the door.
God dammit.
She wished she had.
Gracen could have said a lot of things to deny Delaney’s accusation—she wanted to say it all, too. Instead, she continued rushing out the door without looking back because every word she felt like saying stuck on her tongue.
A lie she wasn’t ready to speak.
Even if it wasn’t one.
What did it matter?
Sonny wasn’t what chased Gracen out of her own salon.
Chapter 3
Not even the iced coffee Gracen sipped—her most favorite source of caffeine regardless of the weather—was enough to quell the bitterness of anger leaving a bad taste in the back of her mouth. Instead of trying to work through what pissed her off the most, Delaney’s lies or Sonny’s upcoming nuptials, she was left with both battling for equal space in her mind.
Gracen let her thoughts run wild; the poor iced coffee with its thin-walled plastic cup took the brunt of the anger with every frustrated sip that rattled the half of a large cup of ice cubes. Frankly, rage-drinking the coffee was better than bursting into a puddle of tears in the shared parking lot of the town’s only coffee shop—with a drive thru—and the liquor store. Just across the road, separated by the highway and the exit ramp that took vehicles down the hill, was a cannabis distillery sharing a parking lot with the town’s nursery.