Page 52 of Trusting the Fall
“Do they pass the test?” I tip my chin at the tiles.
“Why would you punch him?” she asks instead.
“Because I don’t want him looking at you that hard to confirm that you are, in fact, a beautiful bombshell.”
When she finally looks at me, there’s a subtle sheen coating her usual fiery gold eyes, and I find myself desperate to know what she’s thinking. I hate this new divide between us.
I miss the fire of my Bombshell, but I can’t say I’m mad about finally knowing who she is. I can’t believe she’s the same woman I’ve been emailing all this time.
Thinking back on some of our exchanges, I can see it. All those little pieces I was getting. Now that I can bring those two halves together, it only makes me crave her more. I was already fighting for more before we knew who the other really was. She’s only going to pull back harder now and I fucking hate it. She’s slipping between my fingers, and I never held her tight enough to begin with.
“The tiles look fine. I guess we’ll just have to see how it looks once they’re done.” She tugs her handbag higher on her shoulder, commanding confidence, and turns for the front door. “You better hope they don’t look like shit!”
Ah, there’s the burn.
Light me up, baby.
I can take it.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Project Update
What an interesting way to sign your email Mr Connors. What does the L stand for? Leif? Lee? LIAR…..
I look forward to seeing my salon on Friday.
When will Westley be back?
CLAIRE
23
I’vepiss-fartedaroundaslong as I possibly can. I stocked shelves, updated our social accounts, took two walk-in clients and swapped with Savannah for the close shift so she could go out and drink away her sorrows. She’s had a sore thumb over some guy she hooked up with weeks ago that won’t return her calls. Just find a new one, girl. Jesus, why are you fixating on some guy? I mean, it’s not like I’ve been killing time here to avoid a guy myself. Absolutely not. That would imply I care about his opinion. Or his face. And that is most certainly not the case.
I tell myself exactly that as I pull into the carpark at the salon just after eight on Friday night.
The way my heart speeds up when I notice a Connors Construction truck still parked there makes me want to bitch slap myself. Wait, I’ve never noticed branding on Leif’s truck any of the times I’ve seen it. Maybe it’s Westley.
Relief spreads through me with just a hint of disappointment that I’m going to flat out ignore as I kick off my sneakers and pull on my pink work boots.
I think back to one of Leif or Lee’s first emails after I had visited the salon, reminding me it was an active site, and I had to wear proper safety gear. My baby pink steel caps are cute as fuck, while making a statement.
There’s soft music playing as I reach the back door. It’s not like the usual hard rock that pumps through during daylight hours. It’s mellow. Soulful. A little sexy.
I smile as I push the door open and promptly gasp at the sight before me.
My future staffroom has the same whisper of pink coating the walls that covers the entire salon, but it’s the big slabs of off-white marble tiles with a subtle gold vein striking through it that has me stopping in my tracks. They’re not laid in a typical square pattern like I was expecting, but diagonally, like a staggered herringbone.
I step closer and notice interspersed in the middle of each cluster there’s a pink mosaic flower tile. It’s so cute and I am so fucking mad he thought of it. Because I just know it. This is Leif’s doing.
He was determined to be right on the floors. He figured out exactly what I wanted this salon to be. The same way he’s been figuringmeout over the last few weeks.
My head hurts with fury, my brows clash together on my face. I swat away the single tear that dares to fall from my eye, shaking my head with renewed confidence. I race to the main salon floor to see the whole impact. Now all the tears want to fall. How can he be so effortlessly sweet? He’s good, right down to his core. This looks so much better than my stupid floorboards, and these are waterproof. They would have survived when the salon flooded.
Looking around, I marvel at the floors as they glitter under the temporary lights set up around the room. I’m still waiting for my new chandeliers and track lighting to be installed. One of the last things that will happen along with the doors and cabinetry.
