Toothpicks were bullshit.
“Can’t help it.” With her thumb and forefinger, she wiped her lips from the corners in, a practiced, lipstick-containing swipe. “I have a profitable business, my own home, a nice chunk of change in mutual funds, and enough rejectedmarriage proposals to make me think I’m not a complete failure in the game of love. Still, this is a day when dreams die. Dreams planted in our heads by those fairy tales we read over and over. Except the lucky girl you’re sitting here stewing about, she’s the princess.”
Women, Campbell thought with a sigh. “I just asked a simple question. Fairy tales and dreams? Where didthatcome from?”
“Oh, Camp, you dope. Sometimes sexisenough. You know the feeling—like you’re a slick, fast machine. A ’67 Mustang or a GT Cruiser. A smooth, hair-whipping ride. Me?” She paused, tapping her temple as if a world of wisdom was locked inside. “I never felt guilty for taking what I wanted. Unless I stopped to ask myself if sex was enough. Then I knew it wasn’t, and I stayed away. Or, I went ahead and had my fun, knowing I was in for some serious heartache. A sure-fire pity party.”
He managed to keep his smile cool as he whispered, “I think I got invited to the pity party.”
“All men are blinded by whatever block in their brains comes with having a penis. Like it or not, you’re just”—she tossed back the rest of her drink—“caring. Might as well go with it now.”
When Willie Nelson started singing aboutblue eyes and rain, Campbell’s mind went straight to Fontana—and he had to fight the impulse to order another scotch. A double, this time. “I just wondered what women think about sex on the fly.”
Tammi burst out laughing, loud enough to turn heads at the next booth. “You mean, you’ve never before thought to ask?”
He answered with a grunt—a classic male response.
“You want my advice, Camp? Go ahead, screw her silly. AsI see it, miracle of all miracles, you’re on the short end of the stick this time. Be a powerful lesson for you.”
“So sure I’ll get the short end?”
“She isn’t the one asking questions, is she?”
“No,” he found himself admitting, “she seems pretty sure.”
Tammi signaled the waitress, her amused gaze never leaving his. “What’s the worst that can happen? I can hardly believe I’m saying this tolove ’em and leave ’emTrue, but really—what’s the absolute worst? You fall in love, and she doesn’t?” She lifted her glass, clinked it against his. Empty, but the sentiment stood. “Recoverable, trust me.”
Drawing an agitated breath, Campbell scrubbed at a chemical stain on his hand, avoiding the knowing look in Tammi’s eyes. He had at least twenty rolls of film to develop, contact sheets to review for a California client who wanted the perfect full moon shot, and two—maybe three—hundred negatives to file. ANew York Timestravel editor had put in a call to his agent, an offer he’d love to explore. His publisher wanted to discuss a book he’d pitched on disappearing structures scattered across the South. Barns, abandoned houses, sheds—places he longed to capture before they vanished.
Yet here he sat, mooning over a woman who had made a brutally honest offer. The worst case of sexual vacillation in his life.
“Fontana’s a big girl. Smart. Shrewd. If she says she can handle you, she can handle you.”
Campbell dropped his head into his hands.
Goddamn, gossiping small town.
“Beyond adding a little harmless fuel to the fire, my lips are sealed, I swear to you. Darn if I’m not jealous enough to yank out a handful of that glossy hair of hers but, she’s a nice girl. I don’t know her well, she doesn’t allow it, but I’m in the people business.”
He glanced up, curious, although he wasn’t courageous enough to ask for more.
Tammi bit into a lime, then dropped it back in her glass. “She comes by the shop. Only place in town for women who don’t want to get scalped by Jimmy, waiting for a lousy haircut in a room smelling like cheap aftershave and motor oil. Why, I offer flavored coffee all year and apple cider during the holidays. Sweet tea in the summer. Fontana leaves a fair tip, too, and never bitches about a teensy wait.”
Campbell blinked. “O-kay.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Glad to know her tipping habits rank high on your list.”
“It’s a challenging cut. She has thick hair—easier to control if I wet it. A shampoo’s better for that type, but she doesn’t usually go for the extra five bucks. I can see why, supporting herself and Hannah on her own.” She paused, smiling, toying with him. Cat and mouse—he could tell. “Her color’s natural, in case you wondered.”
“I didn’t.”
And he hadn’t.
But the tidbit sparked visions Campbell was sure he didn’t need swimming around in his head.
“Some aura or something hanging round her. I went to a psychic in Charlotte, Mrs. Dolly, who told me about mine. Gold for serenity, with flashes of red. Those being temper and the usual strife of life. Bills to pay, rent on the shop, a mortgage.” She clacked her nails against her glass. “Now, I try to gauge the aura of every woman who sits in my chair, from old Miss Harmon, the high school librarian—if you remember—to, say...Fontana.”
A pause. Another knowing look. “Seems like her only friends are her partner in crime, Jaime, and lovesick Henry, who still hasn’t figured out he’s not getting any.Ever.”
Campbell locked eyes with Tammi and, proving just how infatuated he was, asked, “Her aura? What color do you see?”
