Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

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I’m guessing Dave got called away last minute for work. He’s a firefighter. I’m taking a step forward, intending to greet him, when Gaten says, “Diamond, so help me God, you take one more shower this long and I’m charging you this month’s water bill.”

I crack out a laugh. “Will be sure to let her know.”

Gaten jerks in surprise, spinning around.

“Oh, Aveena, darling, it’s you. I’m sorry, I thought you were Dia.” He opens his arms, and I march myself into his embrace without thinking.

I can’t remember one time where I came over to the Mitchells’ house and Gaten didn’t give me a hug. This man is like a father to me. He’s a warm, fuzzy, comforting papa bear. It’s ironic considering he married grumpy Dave—seriously. That’s what people in town call him. Dave barely ever smiles except when with Gaten and his kids.

“She still in the shower?” Gaten asks, exasperated, but I don’t get the chance to answer before he adds, “Please say you’re joining us for dinner. Dave had to step out, everybody’s gone for the night, and I’ve got enough to feed a village. Help a man out, will you?”

“Happy to.” I chuckle as he pulls away, large hands caging my shoulders as if to take a good look at me.

“Deary me.” He gasps.

“What?” I worry.

“Your hair.”

His reaction makes me question everything.

Did I make a mistake tagging along with Dia to the hair salon today? She’s wanted blue, metallic highlights to accent her black hair for the longest time now, and with her birthday around the corner, I thought it’d be the perfect present for her.

But then the lady asked if I wanted something, too.

And next thing I knew, my brown, butt-length hair was a bold rose-gold color. I guess I just thought… I had nothing to lose? Mom can’t possibly be more disappointed in me than she already is, and the only guy I’ve ever liked doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.

Plus, I used to dream of getting my hair dyed as a kid. Was always hounding my mom to get my whole head dyed red or blue or whatever color I liked that month. I’d just gotten the tips of my hair dyed the day I found Dad in the garage.

I remember feeling so helpless when I grabbed his hand.

He was so cold.

So… dead.

Then I never dyed my hair again.

Until now.

“Yeah.” I flush. “Sort of did it on a whim. What do you think? Hit or miss?”

“Is that even a question? Hit.” Gaten twirls a strand of my pink hair around his index, nodding in approval. “Definitely a hit. You look absolutely stunning, sugar. Come. Take a seat.” He points to the kitchen table. “Best to start without Diamond if we don’t want to starve.”

I laugh in agreement.

Sure enough, Dia is a no-show for the majority of dinner. Gaten’s food is out of this world, not that I expected any less. Gaten Mitchell isn’t the best chef in Silver Springs for nothing. Halfway through dessert, my gaze drifts to the framed family pictures hung up on the dining room wall.

One in particular captures my attention.

Gaten and Dave’s wedding picture.

I’ve heard the story once or twice over the years. How Gaten and Dave met at work years before Gaten branched out on his own and opened up a restaurant. How they were getting close, a bit too close, but Dave was still in the closet, and Gaten feared his feelings were one-sided.

Then Gaten made his move at the office Christmas party.

In front of everyone.