Page 2 of Run Home

Alice narrows her eyes as she watches me in the mirror. “Sam. You haven’t dated in, what? Four years?”

I keep my voice light and carefree as I say, “Five. And you remember how well my previous dating experiences went.”

“A lot has changed since then,” she says, eyes softening. “You’ve changed a lot. It wouldn’t kill you to go on a date or two. At least try to put yourself back out there a little.”

“I’ll take your opinion under advisement,” I state.

Alice snorts a laugh. “Liar.”

Redirecting her attention, I pass her a handheld mirror and swivel the chair so she can see the back of her hair. “What do you think?”

“I love having a hair stylist for a friend—that’s what I think. This turned out even better than the inspiration photo! How’d you do this?” she exclaims.

Twirling a finger through my choppy blonde bob, I adopt an exaggerated French accent. “I’m an artiste.” I whip the black cape off of her shoulders with a flourish, and she stands to get a closer look at her fresh hair in the mirror.

“You’re the best, Sam. You’d be worth paying full salon price instead of the student rate, ya know,” Alice says.

Winking, I tease, “Don’t worry. I’ll be charging you full price soon enough.”

She hugs me before stuffing an overly generous cash tip in my hand, then leaves to pay at the front desk. As a cosmetology student, the only income I earn is the tips that clients give on top of the discounted salon price they pay to the school. Although I took out a small student loan on top of the money I stored away during the years I worked for Griffin, I’m grateful for the tips that keep me from draining my savings account.

Since Alice was my final practice client today, I thoroughly clean my station before leaving. As I drive home to my apartment, I call Danae.

“Hey, Samantha!” she answers. “Are you done for the day? Would you want to meet us over at Griff’s house for dinner instead of talking on the phone? Jason and I are going to head that way in a few minutes.”

“Sure! I’d love to join you. It’s been a whole four days since I’ve seen my guy.”

Last year, Danae adopted one of her students who was entering the foster care system. She connected with Jason as the librarian at his elementary school and became his kinship foster placement. Griffin and I were lucky enough to meet them when Jason attended Camp Wizard, the annual baseball camp my big brother hosts for kids in foster care. Extra lucky for Griffin, considering he was starstruck by the woman who wasn’t starstruck by him, and now they’re engaged.

Extra lucky for me because I have a unique bond with Jason having also been in the foster system with my younger brother before being adopted by Griffin’s parents.

Even though I no longer live in Griffin’s house or work as his personal assistant, I usually see Griffin, Danae, and Jason multiple times a week. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m stopping by my apartment on the way there, so you can start eating without me if I’m taking too long,” I tell Danae.

“We’re perfectly capable of waiting for you,” she replies.

“I dunno,” I tease, “Jason’s got that whole preteen growth spurt appetite happening. He might eat his own hand if you don’t feed him in time.”

“Don’t call him a preteen,” Danae chides. “That sounds so much older than eleven. I’ll make him go outside and throw the baseball around with Griffin if he’s getting too hangry.”

When I walk into Griffin’s house forty minutes later, only Danae is in the kitchen, setting out fajita toppings on the giant island. The open-concept kitchen and living space is lit by huge windows that look out over the covered deck and sloping backyard.

“Let me guess? Throwing the baseball around?” I ask Danae as I approach.

She gives me an exasperated look. “You were right. The hanger was real. But he can learn the good manners of waiting for guests to arrive before eating.”

“I’m not sure I qualify as a guest,” I say with a laugh, squeezing Danae in a hug. She’s a couple inches taller than I am, her five-foot-seven height putting her slightly closer to Griffin’s full six feet. Griffin was a senior in high school when I moved in with our parents, David and Cinda West, at age nine. The two oldest West siblings, Sawyer and Miranda, were already out of the house when Ian and I arrived on the scene. At first, I was intimidated by how tall and broad-shouldered David and Griffin were, but I eventually learned that they were gentle panda bears, not aggressive grizzlies.

Releasing Danae from the hug, I fluff her shoulder-length auburn hair with one hand. “Are you going to let me add some color before the wedding?”

“No way. My days of regular highlights upkeep are behind me. I’m perfectly happy with my natural hair color,” Danae replies with a smile.

Dramatically sighing, I say, “You’re not wrong. Your hair does have the most gorgeous natural highlights. I selfishly want to play around with such a perfect starting canvas to see what I could do.”

“You’ve been using your own hair as a starting canvas lately,” she says. “I’ll forever picture you with the pink highlights you had when we first met, but I’m loving your current shade of blonde.”

With a dramatic hair flip, I say, “Why, thank you. When the calendar rolled to May, I decided to switch from ash highlights to a warmer honey tone for the summer. I’m glad you approve, especially since your wedding photos are coming soon.”