Page 42 of Prime Time Romance
“Like what?”
Poppy continues to study her nails. “Oh, you know. People being annoying and not knowing their place. But I can sleep with one less Ambien tonight because I have my sidekick back.” She holds out her arms. “I missed us, boo.”
I walk around the counter and wrap my arms around her. “I missed us too.”
She pulls away, holding my shoulders. “There are, like, a million things we need to do now that you’re back. You don’t have plans today, right?”
My eyes subconsciously shift to the window and the blue cottage next door.
“Oh, sweetie.” Poppy follows my gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re still pining?” She reaches up and cups my cheek. “Aw, you are. I don’t get it. I mean, I get it; you were always the romantic type, but I kind of thought you’d have grown out of it by now.”
I get a flashback of last night. Of how everything was so perfect until it wasn’t.
“Maybe I should? It might be easier.”
Poppy tsks. “Still got his head up his butt, huh? That doesn’t surprise me. I guess you’ve talked to him, then?”
I nod. “Yes, we went out to the islands last night.”
“A date?”
I shake my head. “No. Just hanging out.”
She tilts her head to the side and studies me. “But did it seem like he could be into you?”
My insides twist into a familiar knot.
“I don’t know. There weren’t exactly sparks. He didn’t seem interested in me at first, and then I got a little bit of an inkling on the walk home, but nothing happened. I’m kind of getting the impression he just wants to be friends.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You and I both know that Sloan Edwards and Spencer Woods are meant to be so much more than friends. As much as I hate to admit it, you two are soulmates. When we were growing up, there was always something holding one of you back, but now that you’re both back in town, it feels serendipitous. Like it’s your time.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, honey.” She rubs my back in slow, soothing circles. “He might just need a little nudge. You two have been friends for so long. He still sees you as that girl next door that he’s always known. That’s always been your problem. We need to show him you’re a woman now.” She snakes her arm around my neck, pulling my head to hers. “And I know exactly how we’re going to do it.”
—
“The salon?”
Poppy holds out her arms in a way where the proper accompanying expression should be ta-da.
“Where else would we go?” She takes me by the hand. “If you want Spencer to finally realize he’s in love with you, you’ve got to address the most obvious problem.” She pets my head, but her fingers get caught in my curls.
“My hair?”
She nods. “And a few other minor things. Just trust me.”
Curl Power is Carson’s Cove’s one and only beauty salon. It was a regular set on a show that tended to have a disproportional number of formal events, from seasonal proms to dancing telethons, fashion shows, and pageants.
Poppy throws open the front door, having presumed my trust is secured, and waves to Lois, the salon owner and head stylist, who stands behind a maroon leather spinning chair as if she has been expecting us.
“This is 911, Lois.” Poppy flings her purse into an empty chair. “Sloan is in need of some hair therapy. She’s desperate.”
I take a seat and try not to take offense at the use of the word desperate or the way that Lois frowns as she picks up one of my dark curls between her fingers and then promptly drops it.
“I’m thinking the works,” Poppy says as Lois covers me with a vinyl apron. “Blonder, straighter, maybe even some extensions, and could you do something about the…” Poppy points to the space between my eyebrows, to which Lois responds with a knowing “Of course.”
Lois promptly pulls over a wheeled cart filled with blow-dryers, styling tools, and containers filled with bright-blue liquid. She reaches down to the bottom shelf and pulls out a piece of cardboard with tiny swatches of hair in varying shades of blond. She hands it to Poppy, who points to a swatch that I swear reads Malibu Sunrise, but I can’t confirm, as Lois swiftly takes the card and tucks it away.
