A week later, Megan locked her front door after letting Ramona into her home Monday afternoon.
“Another new outfit?” Ramona tossed the amused question over her shoulder as she hung her coat on the coat tree in the foyer. “The brighter colors really do suit you.”
Megan glanced from her lemon yellow jersey and rust canvas pants to Ramona’s scarlet sweater and skinny black jeans. “I didn’t know you owned jeans.”
“More than one, and in more than one color.” Ramona faced Megan.
This new Ramona would take some getting used to. Her elegant café au lait features had the barest sketch of makeup: lip gloss, powder and eyeliner. She’d styled her glossy raven tresses in a simple flip.
“Did you run out of hair spray?” Megan followed Ramona through the archway into the living room.
“If we’re going to critique each other’s appearance, could we at least sit down? This could take a while.” Ramona settled into the red velvet armchair and crossed her legs.
“You’re as beautiful as always.” Megan made herself comfortable on the sofa. “Shrink-wrapped minidress or skinny jeans, makeup or no makeup, teased hair or not—it doesn’t matter.”
Ramona’s expression sobered from her usual condescending derision. “And so are you.”
Megan’s eyes stretched wide at the unusual compliment. “Thank you.”
“But I hope you’re doing it for you, and not for Ean.” Ramona waved her hand to take in Megan’s appearance. “Your brighter wardrobe, styled hair and makeup are very flattering and definitely overdue. But you should make the effort for yourself, and not for some man.”
Megan lost the struggle against her smile. “And who were your fashion choices for, before you decided to reduce the effort?”
“They were for me.” Ramona dropped her gaze to a spot on the Berber carpet. “But I wasn’t using them to boost my confidence. I was hiding behind them.”
Had she heard Ramona correctly? “Why?”
“Because I didn’t think I was good enough.” Ramona’s sigh was self-castigating. “That’s why I hid behind heavy makeup and provocative clothes. And before you ask why, I’ll just tell you right now that I don’t know.”
Megan studied Ramona. Her minimal makeup mad
e her look more approachable. “What made you realize that’s what you were doing?”
“Not what, who.” Ramona hesitated several seconds before answering. “Quincy.”
“Oh?” Megan thought she masked her surprise very well. “What did he say?”
“When I asked him why he was attracted to me, he didn’t say my face, my figure or my hair. He talked about things I’d done.” The faint blush that highlighted her cheekbones was more appealing because it was natural.
“Quincy really cares about you, Ramona. How do you feel about him?”
“I like the way he sees me.” Ramona’s ebony eyes were troubled. “But suppose that novelty wears off and he realizes I’m just a shallow bitch—the way everyone else in Trinity Falls sees me.”
Megan’s lips tightened. “A shallow bitch wouldn’t have run for mayor when no one else in town would.”
Ramona arched a brow. “That’s what Quincy said.”
“‘Great minds think alike.’ Quincy’s had feelings for you for years. He sees what’s inside you. He always has.”
Megan understood Ramona’s uncertainty. She also liked the way Ean saw her. His characterization of her was very different from the way she saw herself. But in a good way—a way that made her stronger and more confident.
Ramona sighed. “It’s been years since we’ve talked like this.”
“I like it.” They were sharing confidences like . . . family.
“So do I.” Ramona checked her gold Movado wristwatch. “Are you free for lunch?”
“Yes.” Megan stood. “Where do you want to go?”