Come What May - L.K. Farlow Page 0,22

step onto the cutting floor.

“Hey, stranger!” Myla Rose sets her comb and shears down and rushes over to hug me. I study her when she pulls away; her eyes and smile are both wide and honest—she’s truly happy to see me.

This little kernel of knowledge loosens the knot in my chest a little.

“Hey, Myles.” I keep my voice soft. I feel like an outsider in a salon I worked in for years, and while I know it’s my doing, I don’t like the way I feel like a visitor in such a familiar place, especially one that once was an escape from all that was happening with Dad over the years. But now, in the wake of his death, it almost feels tarnished.

“We’ve missed you, you know?” she asks, hugging me again before picking up her comb and shears and resuming her haircut.

“I’ve missed y’all, too.” I keep my eyes downcast, trying to gather some of the fire I used to possess. These days, it seems only a certain hot-bodied mechanic can coax it out of me.

“Could’ve fooled—oof! Ouch!”

I look up in time to see Azalea rubbing her side. My best guess is Myla Rose elbowed her—the thought makes me grin. She’s a feisty little redhead, so I wouldn’t put bodily harm past her.

“Where’s Magnolia?” I ask, wrapping my arms around my midsection.

“She ran over to Dream Beans with Callista for a coffee run.”

“Who’s Callista?”

Myla Rose and Azalea exchange worried glances.

“Our receptionist,” Myles says slowly.

I try to swallow, but there’s a golf-ball sized lump in my throat preventing me from doing so. Instead, I nod and try not to cry. I knew they would replace me. I all but forced them to when I ghosted them. I should count myself lucky they’re all still willing to speak to me. I know all of this, but still, it stings.

The bell over the door rings, and my cousin walks in along with a beautiful woman who must be Callista. With flawless skin, chestnut hair, and big brown eyes—she’s stunning. And judging by the cheek-splitting smile she’s rocking, she’s nice, too.

Good, I think, nodding to myself. My girls need someone good, and if she’s it and they like her, then I do, too.

“Seraphine!” Magnolia squeals when she sees me. It’s so out of character for my soft, quiet cousin who hates loud noises that it completely catches me off guard. Even more so when she shoves her coffees into Azalea’s hands and runs over to me and wraps me in a tight embrace. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you!”

Once my stupor wears off, I return her embrace, holding the only family I have left on this earth tightly to me.

By the time we let go, we’re both teary-eyed and sniffling.

“You’re really here.” Her voice is tinged with a hint of awe.

“I am.”

“I haven’t heard your voice, seen your face, nothing in more than a month.”

“I know.” Worry lands in my gut like a lead weight. Is she angry with me? Will she ask me to leave? Maybe she doesn’t really want me here?

I lock my hands behind me and take a small step backward. My breathing accelerates as every imaginable worst-case scenario presents itself to me. I’m on the verge of bolting when Callista walks over to me.

“You must be Seraphine.”

I breathe in deeply and exhale before lifting my eyes to hers. “Yes.” My voice is barely audible.

“You’ve left me some mighty big shoes to fill. These ladies love you fierce.”

A smile works its way free at her words. How is it this stranger knew exactly what I needed to hear? “I love them, too.” This time my words are clear.

“I’m Callista.” She extends her hand toward me, and I shake it.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it.

With our introductions out of the way, Magnolia passes me one of the many cups she and Callista returned with. I take a long pull from the straw, letting my tastebuds revel in the cool, toffee-coffee goodness.

Myla Rose finishes up her client and flips the sign to “closed” once she leaves. “Now, let’s talk about what you’ve been up to.”

Azalea smirks. “You know, other than ghosting us.”

Guilt prickles again, but I push it to the back burner and fill my friends in on the disaster-zone that is my life.

“Uh, well, I sold Dad’s shop.”

“What? Why? To who?” Myla Rose demands, rapid-fire.

“It’s a long story.” I fidget in my seat under the weight of their stares. “But Mateo bought