Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

“Why do you want to be different then?”

“I don’t want to be different, per se…” How could I explain it when I wasn’t sure I got it myself? I froze momentarily when I felt the blades rise to a lock of my hair. They closed, snipping off a long chunk.

Sensing my reaction, Tiffany walked in front of me with her brows raised. “For some reason you trust me, right?”

I met her eyes. “I trust you not to make me look homeless.”

She snorted. “Tit for tat. You’re right about me being interested in cosmetology when I was younger. Hair, nails, you name it. I liked making people feel pretty using what they already have. So, I get it. What you’re doing. It’s about enhancing how you feel about yourself. Cutting your hair is like starting over, right?”

Maybe she did get it. “Right. I’m thinking about going back to my normal color too.”

“Okay.” Moving back around me, she carefully evened out my hair before snipping off more. The weight eased from my scalp with every passing minute and I refused to look to the floor where my hair rested. “Do you struggle with it? Your disorder?”

“Every day.”

“But you haven’t…?”

My throat bobbed. “Not in a while. That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted. Some days it’s easier to fight than others. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how easy it would be to just go back to what I used to do. To not eat. To…” Letting my words trail off, I shook my head.

“Do you think this will help? You said you had steps you were following. What’s the endgame for you?”

What’s my endgame? That was a question I hadn’t asked myself in a long time. Maybe never. “Would it be wrong if I said I don’t know? It isn’t like I don’t have goals—”

“Fine. What are they?”

I paused. “To be happy. To be…healthy. Or as healthy as I can be given what I’ll be facing for the rest of my life. I just want…” Theo came to mind, making heat creep up the back of my neck. Squirming, I said, “I just want to be the best version of myself I can possibly be.”

When she didn’t say anything, I wondered what she was thinking. I didn’t want her to pity me. That wasn’t who she was. I preferred her talking smack, trying to pressure me into dancing, anything but what was possibly going through her head that sympathized with me. “What else do you want to do besides get a new ‘do? Tell me the other steps.”

Grateful, I smiled. “My art professor suggested that I do a figure drawing class. It’ll be the most uncomfortable thing for me to do.”

“Drawing naked people?”

Clearing my throat, I said, “Being the naked person people draw.”

“Oh. Oh.” She stopped again. “Does she know about what you’ve been through?”

“That’s why she thinks it’s a good idea.”

“Body positivity,” she realized, almost sounding awed by the idea.

I hummed and did nothing else.

“Yoga.”

My brows pinched. “What?”

Sighing, she moved on to the other side of my hair. “You have to come to yoga class every week. No skipping unless it’s necessary. If you don’t show up, I know where you live now. I’ll drag you there myself.”

“But why?”

She appeared in front of me again, a hand on her hip. “If you want to take her advice, you need balance. That means trying. Go to yoga every week, find a routine. Put yourself in the mindset with your new badass haircut and build yourself up to a point where you can be more comfortable putting yourself out there.”

I licked my lips. “That sounds easier said than done.”

“Nothing worthwhile comes easy. How many people have told us that growing up? I’m fairly sure I heard your own mother tell you that during practice a time or five million.” My mother was full of wise advice that I held onto, so Tiffany was right. Until she added, “And you’re dancing again.”

My eyes bugged out. “Whoa. Wait—”