“Trust me,” he said. “No matter how bad things get with your mom, Jayne’ll never leave; she’s like a pit bull about things like that.”
“Maybe, but—” Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by his phone. Her frown faded, replaced by a slow, mocking grin. “The Dukes of Hazzard? Seriously? Whose ringtone is that?”
“Nick’s.”
She tipped her face up and he was once again struck by how green her eyes were. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“No.”
“It might be important.”
“Then he can leave a message.”
When it finally went to voice mail, Regan focused her gaze on the coffee table, cleared her throat slowly, and spoke even slower.
“Look, Carter, I know I’m sounding ungrateful, and I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, but I’ll be fine, and I really do deal with this much better on my own.”
He took a step toward her, but she scrambled around the furniture so fast, she almost fell backward trying to get away from him.
“Please don’t.”
Carter stopped, hands raised, palms out. “I was just going to give you a hug.”
“I know,” she snorted, her eyes wide, her mouth tipped up in a twisted little grin. “But I’m having a seriously weak moment right now, and the last time I felt even marginally like this, you showed up at my door and…I really can’t afford for you to come one step closer right now.”
“I wouldn’t do anything to get you fired, Regan.”
“I know; I trust you.” Her laugh was a strangled choke from the back of her throat. “It’s me I don’t trust.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that. “So you’re just going to leave me standing here?”
“Damn right.” She moved around the couch a bit more, increasing the distance between them.
“Regan—”
Her smile faded, her mouth tightened. “Please, Carter. I’m fine. I just need some time alone.”
He wasn’t even a little bit convinced she was fine, but she had that look in her eyes again, the one that said she wasn’t about to give in to anything anyone might say, so what choice did he have?
“You’ll call me if you need anything?”
“Sure.”
He tipped his head a little and narrowed his gaze at her. “You’re not going to call me, are you?”
“Not a chance in Hell,” she laughed. “D’you think I’m stupid?”
Every second he stood there staring at her, she seemed to get more and more uncomfortable; the lip-chewing, the crossing and uncrossing of her arms, and the way she couldn’t look at him for more than a blink at a time.
“Then call Jayne,” he said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Okay. Fine.”
Fine, his ass. She wouldn’t call anyone and they both knew it. Even after he was back at his own apartment helping Jules sort out the last of the boxes, he knew Regan would be home alone “dealing with it” on her own.
And that pissed him off more than anything.
—
“Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?”
“Love one, thanks.” The only time Regan ever drank tea was when she worked on Mrs. Goodsen’s hair, and even then, it wasn’t because she liked it, but because the old girl liked company with her tea.
While Mrs. G puttered in the kitchen, Regan organized herself in the living room near the long narrow credenza. She stretched an old plastic tablecloth out on the floor and set one of the chairs in the middle, facing the television so Mrs. G could watch reruns of Storage Wars while Regan did her hair.
“I just love that Barry. What a character.” Mrs. G shuffled out, set two rose-painted teacups on the table, and chuckled at the TV. “How are you liking your new job?”
“It’s only been a week, but it’s been great so far.”
“I’m sure it helps that your new bosses are both such handsome boys.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Regan laughed. “That’s for sure.”
She helped Mrs. G get settled, then got to work while the old woman sipped her tea.
“Does this mean you’re going to stop doing hair?”
“No, but it’ll take a while to find another place to rent so I can set up shop again.” She secured the cape, then reached for the spray bottle. “Just going to wet you down a little.”
“My Jack always said renting was what folks did when they were too scared to make a decision.” A soft smile lightened Mrs. G’s face at the mention of her late husband. “ ‘Shit or get off the pot,’ he’d say. Pardon my language.”
“Your Jack was a smart man.” Regan set the water down and reached for the curlers. Over the years, the woman’s hair had thinned out more and more, making it increasingly difficult to set nicely, but Regan would take whatever care needed to make it right. “When I found out I was losing my place, I looked around for something to buy, but the new places going up along the highway are too expensive and the ones downtown are so old, I’d go broke just trying to bring them up to code.”
“Some of those places are just disgraceful.” Mrs. G clicked her tongue in disgust. “Can’t you set up shop in your house?”
“I’m in an apartment, and there’s some kind of bylaw against it. If I had a house, that’d be different. All I’d need to do is get the permit to convert some of the space and then I’d be good to go.”
“So buy a house.”
“Right,” Regan snorted. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Little short on money, dear?”
“Little bit.” Okay, more than a little bit, but that was her business. “I was getting there, but some, um, unexpected bills came up.”
“Your mother?”
“Yeah.”
Mrs. Goodsen knew Regan was helping to pay for her mother’s care, but she didn’t know the details and she never asked. One more reason Regan loved her.
“You should go see Jeff at the bank.” Mrs. G twisted her head a little so she could look up at Regan. “He’ll help you out.”
“Yeah.” Regan winced. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
Mrs. G also didn’t need to know Regan had already been in to see Jeff and that he’d turned her down flat. Jeff Goodsen might share DNA with his grandmother, but he was nothing like her.
“Don’t get me wrong, dear, I appreciate your home service, but at my age, I don’t get out much, so it was always a treat to go down to your place.”
Regan sighed softly. She rather expected most of her clients felt the same way. Cutting and styling a woman’s hair in her own kitchen wasn’t relaxing for anyone; how could anyone possibly feel pampered when their phones were ringing, the kids were crying, and they were surrounded by a visual to-do list?
“We’ll get it back one day, Mrs. G.”
“I hope so.” Mrs. Goodsen nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the television. “For the love of God, somebody shut that Dave up before I give him something to ‘yup’ about!”
For the next little while, Regan oohed and aahed over what people found in the storage lockers, while Mrs. G gave a running commentary on why she liked or didn’t like the people on the show. When Regan had finished setting her hair, she helped her over to the settee, then scurried around cleaning up the mess.
She tucked a green crocheted blanket around Mrs. G’s lap, then handed her a fresh cup of tea. Feet up, cups in hand, the two of them sat side by side and watched the rest of the episode before Mrs. G changed it over to the shopping channel, then muted it.
She shifted a little, resettled the blanket around her lap, and nodded at Regan. “Tell me, dear. Why aren’t you settled down and married to a nice boy?”
“Oooh.” Regan stuttered over a nervous laugh. “I’m not exactly the marrying kind.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. G twirled the gold band around her thin crepey finger and smiled. “I didn’t think I would ever get married, either, but the day I met my Jack, I knew.”
“You knew? Just like that?”
“Oooh, yes.” There was a far-off twinkle in the old girl’s eye. “The first time that man kissed me, I thought my kneecaps had melted.”
It couldn’t have been more than a second or two that Regan stared back at her, not blinking, her mouth open in a small o, but it was long enough.
“Ah, you’ve felt it, too.” Mrs. Goodsen nodded, her eyes sparkling. “That’s him, dear. He’s the one.”
It took another second, but Regan finally managed a snort. “Sorry, Mrs. G, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“You mean besides the fact he’s not the settling-down kind, either?”
“Nonsense,” she repeated, the twinkle a little brighter now. “A kiss like that doesn’t happen with just anyone, dear, and it doesn’t happen for no reason.”
“Just because the man can kiss doesn’t mean we should start looking at china patterns.” Regan gathered up their dishes and carried them to the kitchen. “And he’d be the first to agree with me on that.”
“I’ll wash those, dear, just leave them.”
“That’s okay. It’ll just take me a minute.” And it would give her time to tamp down the crazy idea that Carter might be “the one.” She’d never believed in the idea of anyone being “the one” for her, and even though Mrs. G’s suggestion that Carter might be it wasn’t completely horrendous, it was completely unlikely.
Every day last week, she’d gone into work expecting him to do something—to wink, to touch her, or to make a comment about her hair—but he’d kept his distance. She’d caught him looking at her a couple times, but if she hadn’t been looking at him, she never would have noticed, so…besides, looking never hurt, right?
And there was no denying she liked looking at him, especially when he was working. Professional, kind, and melt-your-heart sweet with the kids, he made sure they were all smiles when they left his office, even after shots, and all the while he somehow managed to gently rebuff more than one mother whose tactics were slightly less than subtle.
Regan just rolled her eyes each time it happened, but when Amber Corrigan trapped him in the hallway this morning long after her son’s appointment, it was just too much. Stepping between them, Regan gave her very best Mary-Sunshine smile.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Scott has patients waiting. Is there anything I can help you with out front?”
“No,” Amber smiled, laying her hand on Carter’s arm. “We were just chatting about—”
“That’s nice,” Regan said. “But maybe you could just give him your phone number and he’ll call you when he has time.”
“Sure, that’d be great.” By the way Amber’s eyes lit up, you’d think she’d just struck gold. “Do you have a pen?”
“Out at my desk.” As she waved Amber out ahead of herself, Regan turned back to Carter, opened her eyes wide, and mouthed Seriously?
Amber wrote out her name and number with the flourish of a thirteen-year-old, then handed the paper and pen back to Regan.
“Good,” Regan said, smiling up at Amber. “I’ll add it to his pile.”
“His pile?”
Completely dismissing her, Regan lifted another file and smiled at Carter’s next patient. “Adelle, Dr. Scott’s ready for you now.”
As she led Adelle and Rosie down the hall, she pressed the paper into Carter’s hand, then quietly cheered when he immediately tossed it in the recycle bin.
“Have a seat in my office,” he said to Adelle. “I’ll just be a second.”
By the time Regan made it back to her desk, Carter had texted her a picture of a white Life Saver with the words thank you underneath.
How something so silly could still make her smile so many hours later was beyond her.
“Are you okay in there, dear?” Mrs. Goodsen’s voice brought Regan back with a start.
“Y-yes, all done.” She helped Mrs. G back into the chair so she could take out the curlers and finish up. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
“No, I’m all set, thank you.” She tucked her hand under Regan’s elbow and walked to the door with her. “Give your young man a chance, Regan. I hate to see a nice girl like you all alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Regan said, kissing her soft cheek. “I have lots of friends.”
“Pish. It’s not the same.” She reached for her purse, but Regan shook her head.
“Put it away.”
Mrs. Goodsen stopped shuffling and set her fists on her hips. “How do you expect to ever reopen your salon if you’re going to keep cutting my hair for free?”
“I didn’t cut your hair, I only styled it.” Regan smiled as she lifted her box of supplies. “Besides, you know how I feel about this. You were my first customer when I opened the salon, and you brought in at least half my clients, so if I want to do this for you, you need to let me.”
“Now, Regan—”
“If it makes you feel better, next time you can make me tea and popcorn.” She waited until Mrs. G’s expression softened into a wrinkled smile, then she gave her another quick peck on her cheek, and let herself out, making sure the door latched behind her.
They didn’t make women sweeter than Edith Goodsen; it was just too bad her own family didn’t see it. Most of the time they treated her like a burden, an inconvenience at best, which was probably why she’d moved into the Seniors Housing a few years ago; it was easier to pay someone to look after her than to have to keep asking for volunteers.
See—even Mrs. G knew it was better not to depend on anyone else. Smart woman.
—
A full day’s work and two styling appointments left Regan more than ready for a drink with the girls. Chalker’s was a little busier than normal for a Tuesday night, but with half the patrons in hockey jerseys and every television turned to the game, it was little wonder why.
“Usual?” Their waitress didn’t even slow down as she moved past the table, tray in hand, pencil jammed through the pile of hair on top of her head.
“Yeah, thanks, Shell.” Regan slid into the chair across from Ellie and grinned. “Look who’s back! Nice tan.”
Ellie’s normally dark blond hair had lightened a little in the sun, and her skin glowed against her plain turquoise T-shirt and khaki scarf. They weren’t colors Regan would have put together, but on Ellie, everything looked good.
“I’ve decided to marry an American so I can go live there permanently.”
“Good idea.” Regan snorted out a harsh laugh and reached for a handful of peanuts. “But you realize you’d need to spend more than five minutes with a man if you’re going to marry him, right?”
“Oh, it’d be so worth it, Reggie.” Ellie sighed dreamily. “Sun, sand, and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts—what more could a girl want?”
“Not much.” Regan shoved the sudden image of Carter as far back in her mind as she could. “You look great.”
Shelley set four drinks on the table just as Maya and Jayne arrived. A bit of a flurry as they welcomed Ellie back and laughed even harder when she told them about how she planned to make Waikiki her permanent home.
“Did you actually meet anyone over there?” Maya asked. “And when I say ‘anyone,’ I mean ‘any men.’ ”
“Of course, but I couldn’t up and ditch my sister to take off with some guy I’d just met.”
“No, of course not.” Maya rolled her eyes. “But I bet your sister had no problem ditching you, did she?”
“No problem at all,” Ellie answered matter-of-factly. “But my sister’s a slut.”
They all laughed, but over a long, slow sip of her beer, Regan watched unease flicker across Ellie’s hazel eyes. It was the same thing every time they talked about her going out with a man. Or not going out, as was the usual case with Ellie.
“Are you ever going to tell us why you’re afraid to go out for anything more than coffee?”
“I’m not afraid, Maya. I just haven’t met anyone interesting enough to make me want to.”
“Maybe
I can help.” Jayne set her glass down and leaned in closer. “I could set you up with—”
“No!” Regan and Maya said in stereo.
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Jayne laughed. It looked like she had more to say, but Ellie cut her off.
“Speaking of romance, Andrea Bouwman came in today, Regan. She says you agreed to do her whole wedding party’s hair—are you crazy?”
“Probably, but what was I supposed to say?”
“You know she lives in one of those teeny tiny little apartments by the high school, right? How are you going to manage that many people in such a cramped space?”
“Carefully,” Regan snorted, then turned to Maya. “Are you doing the flowers?”
“Yes, and they’re going to be gorgeous.” Her eyes took on that distant look she always seemed to get when she talked about flowers, almost as if she was arranging them in her mind. “White calla lilies with purple ranunculus and little bits of grape hyacinths—her something blue, thank you very much.”
A moment’s hesitation, then Ellie snickered. “Does anyone beside Maya know what a ranuncu-whatever-she-said is?”
“Not a clue,” Regan laughed. “And the only flower Jayne knows is the dandelion.”
“Which, despite what she and Nick seem to think,” Maya quipped, “is not a flower. It’s a weed.”
The smile on Jayne’s face said everything she didn’t. Weed, flower, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Nick regularly found her some and brought them home. How he managed that in the middle of winter was a secret only he and Maya knew. When Jayne finally blinked past her smile, she turned back to Regan.
“When’s the wedding?”
“Fifteenth of February.”
“Really?” Jayne’s smile looked a little hopeful and a little victorious all at the same time. “What if I told you I could save you from the teeny tiny apartment?”
“I’d say I love you more than Ellie and Maya combined,” Regan said, winking across the table. “Why?”
“Nick and I are going to the island that weekend, and we were going to ask his folks to take Duke for us, but if you want to house sit and look after Duke, we could set you up a little salon in the garage. It’s heated, there’s a sink, and God knows Nick has more than enough outlets out there.”
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