The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

I sigh and my shoulders drop, removing my hand from its protective clutch around the planner. I extend it to Lucy because I’m really trying to get better at trusting someone other than only my grandaddy. “No, I’m sorry. I snapped because I’m embarrassed.”

“About what?” She carefully takes the planner from my fingers and thumbs through it. “What am I looking at here? It’s just a planner. I thought you were peeking at something dirty.”

I laugh. “It’s my due date countdown, weirdo.”

Lucy’s brows scrunch together. “Why would you be embarrassed about that? I have your due date set up as a countdown on my phone. It’s going to shoot off virtual confetti on the big day.”

“You do?” I ask with an incredulous smile. Why would she do that? Why would she care that much?

Lucy smiles, and the last of my embarrassment slips away. She’s seriously the most disarming person I’ve ever met. They should find a way to clone her for military de-escalation purposes.

“Of course! You’re my best friend. My sister from another mister. My ma’am.” (Which I know is the highest of compliments since it’s her and her mom’s nickname for each other.) She pats my belly, knowing she’s one of the few in the world who can without getting her arm whacked off. “I can’t wait until this little dumpling gets here. So why in the world are you embarrassed of this?” She holds up the offending sparkly planner.

It’s stupid, I know. It’s my child. I SHOULD be excited that he or she will be entering the world soon. But because of the way this all came about—because I can remember the way my ex’s face looked when I broke the news to him—I also feel immense guilt. I feel like I have no right to be excited about the baby because he blamed me so harshly for “tricking him” into becoming a dad. And then I think of the emotional train wreck that is the life I will be bringing my child into, and I can’t help but feel this baby deserves so much better than what I have to offer.

I feel like I’m doing something wrong by anticipating my baby’s birth.

Of course, I don’t tell Lucy any of this, because even just the thought of it makes me break out in vulnerability hives. Instead, I point to the planner. “All the glitter. It’s an embarrassing planner is all. Not very grown-up.”

She laughs and shakes her head, easily buying the lie. “Hardly something to be embarrassed of. I like the glitter!” She playfully bops me on the head with it before tossing it back on the desk in front of me. “Own your guilty pleasures. And now that I know

yours is glitter, prepare for everything I buy you from now on to be glitterized.”

Oh good. I know she’s serious too. Is this how everyone’s weird collections begin? One tiny lie, and before you know it, your whole house is decked out in baby elephant decor. Looks like I get to be glitter girl.

The door chimes, and Jessie and I both look up to see the delivery man enter with his dolly and my monthly order of hair product inventory stacked high on it. I gladly show him to the storage room, seizing the chance to escape Lucy and our unwanted conversation.

The rest of the day moves pretty slowly yet peacefully. A happy little snail day. Jessie and I have a handful of clients and a few walk-ins but nothing too strenuous. I’m happy and comfortable in the salon, and it’s only when the clock starts to near that five o’clock mark that anxiety kicks in again. Because today, I won’t be heading home to my house; I’ll be going back to Drew’s house—aka the torture house. And yes, I realize that would make a fantastic haunted house name.

I’m sitting in my empty salon chair, leaned back, legs crossed watching Lucy finish up the perm she’s been placing in her client’s hair, but I’m not seeing any of it. Instead, I’m picturing that sliver of Drew’s skin again. Always. Like when you stare at the sun too long and it burns an image in your eyes. All I see is tan. No, golden. No—bronze.

“Has Drew always been so persnickety?” I ask Lucy.

She glances over at me, amused by my sudden blurt-out. “Yes. But in his defense, it works for him.”

“How do you figure?”

She shrugs lightly and continues rolling rods in her client’s hair. “Drew is one of a kind. He’s focused, he knows what he wants at all times, and that’s why he’s always been the reliable one…the guy you turn to when everything falls apart, and somehow, he can hold it all together. It’s his decisiveness, his attention to detail, his drive…all of those aspects are what have gotten him to where he is today in his life and career. It works for him.”

“Well, it just annoys me.” Lucy and her client both sputter a laugh. “I’m serious. It’s that decisiveness that makes him think he rules the world. He needs to be knocked down a few pegs.”

Lucy mmhmms, unconvinced. “It’s only a matter of time before you drink the Kool-Aid with the rest of us. Drew might be overbearing at times—trying to fix things when he should be quiet and making sure everything is sitting at a 90 degree angle on any given surface—but…he’s also got the most golden heart in the world. He’s lovable.”

Suddenly, Lucy’s client pops her head around to look at us with bright eyes. “You’ve sold me. Any chance he’s into old ladies?”

I push myself up out of the chair, rolling my eyes dramatically as I pass by Lucy’s station, headed for the front desk. “Believe me, you don’t want him, Mrs. Ellis. He’s the most obnoxious man in the world. Smug. Bossy. Opinionated. Likes to gloat. And…” His dimpled smile flashes in my mind, quickly followed by that sliver of skin. Why is it bothering me so much that I can’t quite accurately describe the color?

My grandaddy would probably say it’s like the top side of a biscuit, brushed with butter and fresh out of the oven, but never mind. I need to stop thinking about Drew because it’s getting me too heated—and not the good kind of heated. The angry, want to cut off the hot water while he’s in the shower, blast the AC, and then run off with his towel and clothes kind. And just for the record, I’m not thinking of him in the shower in a good way either. Like I wouldn’t open the curtain or anything before I stole the towel. I would just snatch it and run off. But then again…what if he has one of those fancy showers that is all open and doesn’t have a door? Then I’d definitely see him naked.

Shoot, what was my point again?

“Wow, are you okay? You just sort of trailed off in the middle of talking and zoned out. Now your face is super flushed.” Lucy is the most concerned person in the world right now as she tells Mrs. Ellis she’ll be right back then crosses over to my station so she can feel my cheeks and head. “Do you have a fever? I think you do.”

I swat her hands away. “No, I do not have a fever! I feel fine. Quit being such a mom.” I was just thinking about your brother in the shower.

Lucy does not look convinced, and now Mrs. Ellis is concerned too. “I don’t know, sweetie. I think Lucy might be right. Your face looks like my first-place-winning tomatoes from the fair last year.” I feel like she’s more interested in plugging her winning vegetation than my health.

And of course now that they’re bringing attention to my face, it’s heating up even more. I’m a furnace. Combustible. “I’m fine, ladies. Really.”