Thank you, Callum.
Ellie
I crinkled the note and swore. I thought I’d gotten through to her. Thought she might have given us a chance. I wanted to go after her to try to make her see what she was throwing away.
But I couldn’t.
I’d promised her she could walk away if that was what she really wanted.
I tossed the note into the trash bin and headed for the shower.
Evidently, it was time to leave Crescent Cove in my rearview mirror.
Chapter Ten
ELLIE
VALENTINE’S DAY
I pushed the broom across the clay-colored matte tile. Clippings from a half dozen clients shuffled along the floor in front of my favorite rubber broom. It had been a busy morning. People excited for a romantic evening had come in for last-minute beautifications.
My book was slowly growing with customers. Some were from the Cove thanks to my years at Brewed Awakening and before that at Robbie’s Pizza.
I’d made plenty of acquaintances in town. Enough that I was able to network a little with help from a few coupons. I’d also been doing some videos on the Instagram and TikTok accounts I’d convinced Melody to try out. I was in charge of them, but I actually didn’t mind it. Our followers were slowly increasing due to some clever hashtags as well.
All the books I’d read and workshops I’d taken in marketing over the years were finally proving useful. With a little luck from walk-ins and word of mouth, things seemed to be looking up.
I’d given myself six months of savings in a special slush account to cover living expenses, booth rental, and of course my apartment rent. If I really needed to dip into my nest egg, I could. Budgeting had been my life for a long time. Long enough that I still lived way below my means even though I didn’t have to anymore.
I was already seeing steady growth in my bank account, especially since I’d established multiple payment options to accommodate younger clients. Melody, the owner of the salon, was still living with a cash and carry setup for the most part, but I was slowly getting her to come around to my way of thinking.
All in all, I was happy.
But I was always tired. A good kind of tired most of the time. Falling into bed after working a full day doing what I loved was a new feeling. And okay, maybe I was going to bed before nine o’clock most nights. It was winter, and the days were shorter.
February was made for sleeping in when I could, and I’d found a lot of joy in making some improvements in the salon. Melody hadn’t exactly been on board right away, but money talked. Clients were already commenting on how spa-like the place felt. I’d also used my own cash and time. I’d become comfortable with do-it-yourself ideas years ago because money hadn’t been abundant for most of my life.
In the end, Melody thought we could charge a little more because we looked so posh.
I’d done that. My ideas and my ingenuity. Self-pride was new to me, but it felt good.
Most nights I was too tired to think about the man who’d come into my life like a spring storm. Wild and messy, full of wind and excitement. Just as fast as he’d arrived, I knew he’d be gone.
I’d made sure to leave first.
I wasn’t sure I could have handled him walking away. It was humbling to know that. He’d overwhelmed me not only physically, but with the way he saw me. That fantasy drawing he’d done of a seductive, almost playful woman—that wasn’t who I was.
At least I didn’t think so.
Sooner or later, he’d see that and lose interest. It had happened many times in my life to my mother and I. Hot and heavy passion was easy, but there was rarely any lasting substance.
And Callum was an artist, for God’s sake. There was no stability there. No peace. And I couldn’t allow myself to wonder or hope. Not now. Not when I was just putting my plans into motion.
I had a stubborn side, one I stuffed under the bed each morning. After the lonely nights that made me wonder a bit too much. That insane little voice that said what if? It was the same one who wouldn’t let me delete the message from Kinleigh with Callum’s phone number.
I hadn’t been expecting her call the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I hadn’t recognized the number, but I knew Kinleigh’s sweet voice as she left a rambling explanation about the man who’d been looking for me. And she had a gut feeling that I should give him a chance.
Maybe I thought about him sometimes when the day was slow, or the night was long. Maybe I almost called him once or five times.
Suddenly, the floor wavered in my vision. I leaned to the left, and if I hadn’t had the broom handle to hold on to, I would have gone down.
“Whoa, Ellie.” Paisley Jones, the third stylist in the salon, rushed over to me. Her freakishly strong fingers gripped my upper arm and pushed me into the chair at her station. “You all right?”
“Yeah, just got a little lightheaded there for a second.” Had I eaten today? Nothing appealed lately. “Could you grab my water bottle?”
“Yeah, sure, babe.” Paisley rushed over to my area at the back of the salon and returned with my purple bottle. “Here. Drink up. Have you eaten?”
I shrugged while I gulped the cool water.
“Want me to run over to the diner or Jersey’s for a sandwich?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Everything tastes so ugh lately.” I took another deep drag on my straw.
“I wish. I just entered shark week. I could hoover down everything from the diner’s menu right now. Especially Gina’s new poutine addition. Dear God, that’s good.”
I huffed out a laugh. We could definitely agree there. “Salt is the primary ingredient in my period week menu.”
“Doesn’t help the ankles, but gawd, so good.” She yanked open her drawer and pulled out her phone. “Now I gotta make an order, dammit. You sure you don’t want?”
“No, I…” I hadn’t wanted anything salty in a while. Not in the last month at all. “Shit.” I slid out of her chair and ran for my station.
“Hey, don’t move so fast. I don’t want to scrape you out of the hair, girl.”
“Right. Crap.” I turned around to finish my chore.
Paisley waved me off then grabbed the broom. “I got it.”
“Thanks.”
She already had her cell at her ear and was chitchatting with someone at the diner.
I quickly went for my own drawer and phone. “I’m running to the bathroom, Melody!” I called out.
“Okay!”
“No, no. Don’t do this to me.” I shut myself into our small water closet and opened my period tracker app.
Six days late.
“Oh, shit.” I collapsed onto the little bench full of more plants. I shoved them over to make room for my butt.
I tipped my head between my knees. “No way,” I whispered.
If I said it out loud then that made it real.
Shut up, Ellie. Don’t say it.
Pregnant.
Maybe.
Swallowing hard, I sat up. Maybe I was just late. Starting a new job was the ultimate form of stress and it could have pushed my cycle into the red zone. Not that I’d ever, ever, ever been late in my life, but I could be.