Wilder and Talent Ridge were on the front page, recognized for a large sum of money their law firm donated to a charitable cause. Four pages later, a Help Wanted ad for a receptionist position at a spa called Hush changed my entire life.
With room to grow,it said.
I never made it to L.A.
There’s an oversized gold, glittering box topped with an enormous red bow on my bed when I return to my bedroom. Tears immediately sting my eyes, knowing it can only be from Lydia. The box could be empty, and I’d still be this thankful. For even a pretty empty box is more than what I’ve been given on my birthday in a long time. And I can always use it as storage for my candles.
I approach my bed and pull back the tapestry hung across the window behind my headboard, letting in the morning sunshine. The box glimmers in rosy light, and the bow is glossy enough to reflect my image on its finish.
Hesitant to disturb its perfection, I carefully flip the tag between my fingers.
To Camilla
Always, Lydia and Talent
Remembering my birthday is a gift in itself. But to imagine Lydia taking time out of her busy day to pick out a present with me in mind, have it boxed impeccably and hidden in her closet or under her bed, only to sneak it into my bedroom this morning as a surprise quickens the tears rolling down my face. I want to call and thank her for thinking of me, but something tells me she won’t answer.
The box isn’t empty.
I sit on the mattress near the gift box and feel the weight inside before lifting the top off, setting it carefully at my side. Delicately peeling back layer upon layer of white tissue paper, my heart pounds inside of my chest until I reveal a dress as rosy as the morning light and as glitzy as the packaging.
Removing the dress from the box, I stand up and the length of the gown falls to my feet. It’s a strapless dress with a bustier top and an A-line floor-length shape, made of rose-gold satin and sequins. I hold it against my body and twirl in a circle, watching the skirt sashay around my legs like shooting stars.
There’s a knock on the front door, and I reluctantly drape the dress across my bed to answer it.
“Happy Birthday, Camilla.” Dog Mom bounces on the balls of her feet in excitement, stretching a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls out to me. “I remembered how much you loved these, so I made an entire dozen for you on your big day.”
The kindness in her eyes combined with the fondness she so clearly baked into the cinnamon rolls officially throws me over the edge of composure straight into emotional anarchy. Standing in the doorway, barefoot in oversized sweats and a hoodie, I take the rolls from Dawn and cry out over cream cheese frosting.
There’s nothing pretty about the emotion that tears itself from my lungs, coming out as gasps and moans. But it’s one hundred percent honest.
“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?” Dog Mom asks. She steps inside the apartment and leads me to the couch with a hand on the small of my back. “I thought you liked cinnamon rolls.”
“I do,” I say. But it’s all I can manage before years of sorrow burst from me like a broken water line, and I cry, letting it all rush out.
Dog Mom doesn’t pry for a reason behind my sudden tears. She cradles my hand in hers, making herself comfortable on our sorry excuse for a couch, and is content to be by my side as I go through what I’m going through. Little does she know her presence means as much to me as the cinnamon rolls.
When my cell starts to ring, Dawn takes it upon herself to scurry over to the kitchen table and grab it. She calls out the number flashing across the display screen, and I reach out for the phone. Dog Mom takes this as permission to answer on my behalf.
“Camilla Hearst’s answering service.” She snickers at her own joke and gives me a thumbs-up. “How do you do, Wilder? This is Dawn. Yep, the neighborhood watch organizer. I stopped by Lydia and Camilla’s place to drop off some goodies for our birthday girl and to pick up the tactical gear from last night’s patrol. You were quite the hit around here. We got four new volunteers this morning alone.”
I smile at her casual conversation with a man who’s anything but casual. She talks to him as if he’s an old friend, not the same person who frequently shows up on the front page of the local newspaper or on billboards along the highway. Dawn’s ability to make everyone feel like they have a friend in her is my favorite thing about the woman.
“I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Dawn smiles after a minute and blushes. “Here’s Camilla. Bye-bye now.”
The tears have stopped, but my voice is faint with lasting emotion. I’m trapped in the gap between the bitter mark my past has left on my heart and the hope a pretty dress and a dozen cinnamon rolls gives me.
“Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. My chin quivers, and I bite my bottom lip to steady it.
“Happy—” Wilder stops, and his tone drops from cheerful to concerned. “What the fuck happened? Are you okay?”
Dawn takes the cinnamon rolls to the kitchen and searches until she comes up with a fork and plate. Lydia would have a fit if she saw Dog Mom opening and closing cabinets and drawers like she owns the place, but I’m glad that she feels comfortable enough to do so. It makes the illusion of our friendship feel real. If she knew the truth about Lydia and me—the truth about the Ridges—she wouldn’t be so laid-back.
Good and evil can live side by side seamlessly.
“Nothing happened,” I assure him. “I’m just happy.”
“Are you sure?” He exhales a sigh of relief.
