Page 13 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

Scarlett, who knew very well that Chrissie had no eyes for anything related to fashion, watched with an amused smile as Chrissie’s hair was pulled, chopped, and stored in a Ziploc bag discreetly brought out by River.

“Okay, we’redefinitelysending Walsh another proof-of-life photo,” Scarlett said as Chrissie was carried out of the salon on a cloud of hairspray. She didn’t manage to get a look at the bill, but the disregard with which Scarlett had signed the slip indicated that it wasn’t beyond her friend’s means.

Scarlett snapped a few candid shots with Chrissie’s phone before she could think to put up a fight.

“And don’t argue with me, because I saw the way you conned that poor washing girl into sweeping up your hair when Bernice wasn’t looking. Have youeverbeen able to get out of a room without doing at least one act of selflessness?”

“I didn’t con her into anything!” Chrissie protested, but it was mistake. While she was distracted, Scarlett sent one of her photos off into the void. “Please tell me you didn’t actually text my daughter’s volleyball coach a picture of my new haircut. He’s going to think I’m deranged.”

“Um, what he’s going to think is that he can’t wait for you to get back from this trip.” Scarlett flipped the phone around to show Chrissie the picture she’d sent. “Did you even look in the mirror before you walked out of there? You look like a hot, modern-day—”

“Katharine Hepburn,” Chrissie finished for her. And it was true. Something about Scarlett always brought out the best in her, because she once again looked relaxed, carefree, and happy. She also looked like she’d just stepped off the set of a 1940s period drama—one of the really good ones where they replaced all the closed-door sex scenes with the full Bridgerton experience.

An incoming text had her heart leaping to her throat.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Scarlett waggled her eyebrows. “I bet it’s totally a dick pic this time.”

“Of course it’s not! Walsh wouldneverdo anything like that.” Chrissie felt her cheeks flame as her phone notified her that an image was attached. “At least, I don’t think he would. Not while he has Kat staying there with him. Besides, wouldn’t it take him a few minutes toget things, uh,prepped?”

Scarlett’s rich peal of laughter sounded. “Chrissie, men have at least a dozen saved dick pics on standby at all times—usually ones they took in bathrooms with generous lighting. They’re not sending you a live play-by-play.”

“Walsh doesn’t have anything like that stored. He’s not that kind of man.” Chrissie’s finger hovered over the phone, hesitation holding her back. In all honesty, she didn’t knowwhatkind of man Walsh was—a thing she was both ashamed and proud of.

For the past six years, Walsh Hampton and his daughter, Lily, had been a regular presence in her life—hers and Kat’s both. Kat had originally tried out for the volleyball team on a whim, driven by Chrissie’s determination to see her in some kind of structured activity. Remembering the long, lonely hours she’d spent trapped inside her own house, her private piano lessons her only real break from the monotony, Chrissie had given ten-year-old Kat her choice of hobbies. And Kat, who’d never once even picked up a volleyball, had decided that nothing else would do for her but to throw herself heart and soul into the sport.

To this day, Chrissie didn’t know if it was the uniforms that had appealed to Kat, if the spirit of competition had seized her, or if it was Walsh himself who had sparked such a love for the game. In her more honest moments, she suspected it was Walsh. From the moment Kat had stepped onto the court, nervous and unsure of herself but determined not to show it, she’d taken to the tall, jocular coach. He was a natural athlete, his six-foot-three frame fleshed out but firm, and demanded the best of his team at all times.

He usually got it, too. Not by being blunt to the point of rudeness, like Scarlett, and not by being a pushover to the point of roadkill, like Chrissie, but because people took one look at him and decided they’d do anything to earn one of his wide, impulsive smiles.

Chrissie hadn’t been kidding when she said that all the othervolleyball moms were on the catch for the divorced father of one. Walsh wasn’t a conventionally attractive man, his head bald while the rest of him was covered in dark tufts of hair, his beard starting to show telltale patches of gray, but that was a large part of his charm. He looked like the sort of man who could weather any kind of storm—and who made sure everyone else weathered it with him.

“Okay, I’m going in,” Chrissie said as she clicked the text notification. As soon as she did, she felt all the air leaving her lungs.

There, instead of a photo of his more intimate anatomy, was Walsh with a chef’s hat on his head and an apron that readKiss the Cook. His grin was lopsided but genuine, crinkled lines of laughter extending out on both temples.

Vacation looks good on you. Wish I could say the same about these ribs I’m basting. I think I used too much paprika, but Kat says they’re her favorite.

“What is it?” Scarlett demanded as she tried to peek at the phone. “Did he actually send you a nude? Can I see?”

“It’s not a nude.” Chrissie’s fingers shook as she typed back. “He’s just being ridiculously nice to me and Kat, as usual.”

You don’t have to do that for her. She can eat whatever you’re used to serving.

It didn’t take him long to respond.

I don’t mind. It’s a good excuse to get out the grill. Besides, I might use the extra meat to try and buy Rufio’s affection. I brought him over this morning, but I think he’sstill a little wary of me.

“Omigod, I can’t believe he actually moved that dratted cat into his house.” Chrissie moaned as she thought of how much it would cost to have Walsh’s entire carpet cleaned once she got home. Rufio was not a cat who did things by halves.

She switched over to texting her daughter, but the response didn’t do anything to reassure her.

KAT, WHY DID YOU LET COACH MOVE RUFIO INTO HIS HOUSE? YOU KNOW HE’S GOING TO PEE ON EVERYTHING.

don’t worry. i’m training rufio to only pee in lily’s room. that’ll teach her to “accidentally” bleach my best satin pillowcase.

KATHLEEN GENEVIEVE THOMAS, DON’T YOU DARE LET THAT CAT INTO LILY’S ROOM. I FORBID IT.

too late. he’s already sniffing around her favorite vans.