Page 90 of Hidden & Held

“Eh, you all probably had a beef in your past life that she carried into this one,” Nessa supplies as if this is a common occurrence, drinking her full moon foam coffee.

Linda chuckles, not taking her eyes off the scene. “Perhaps. It could be as simple as her wanting to be chosen first and always. And when others clearly prefer someone else, it makes some lash out.”

“So.” Linda turns to me, abruptly changing the subject. “Where does one go in Cascadia to look their best? I need a pedi.” She looks over at my boot. “And maybe you can get a modified one; it wouldn’t hurt.”

I laugh at her bluntness, about to refuse the trip when Nessa chimes in, “A girl I do catering gigs with opened up Soluna Atelier, the best place in town. She’s actually our friend’s sister-in-law. I’ll text Becca and see if she wants to join us.”

The two talk about which color would best suit their sign under the current planetary alignment as I am whisked off, seemingly out of my control.

Soluna Atelier smells of eucalyptus and something floral, with soft neutrals and warm wood, touches of green tucked into every corner. Gentle bubbling from the pedicure machines can be faintly heard over the chatter of the salon.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” I get out under my breath as Holly is putting the final polish on a soft dusty rose color. Not a color I would have chosen myself, but Linda pointed at it before I could form an opinion, and somehow that was that.

“You do so much with your hands, you deserve a little pampering.”

“Mmhmm, same,” Nessa says as she lies back in the massage chair, eyes closed, as the bubbling water soaks her feet. “Thank you, Mama Mercer!”

Linda chuckles, eyes bright as her nails are finishing drying under the heat lamp. “Of course, thank you for letting me tag along. Having three boys really puts a damper on beauty days.”

I smile, thinking of Linda raising a house full of crazy boys, and all the love and chaos that must have been running through their halls. I’ve always wanted children, at least two. Being an only child with a mother who worked too much always had me craving someone at home to commiserate with.

“There,” Holly says, finishing up. “Let it dry, and you are all set. I need to go finish stocking the back room if you don’t mind watching the front for a second.” I nod as she scurries off.

Nessa opens up one eye, watching Holly step into the back room. “Isn’t that supposed to be Mandy’s job?” She scoffs.

Mandy is Holly’s best friend and an employee of the store. An employee who is gone more often than not.

“She is at another ‘wellness’ retreat,” Becca chimes in from her pedicure station, complete but not in any hurry to take off her toe separators.

Nessa nods as if this explains many things. “The kind where they confiscate your chardonnay at the door and replace it with something that tastes like a forest floor and good intentions?”

Becca snorts, not commenting any further, while Nessa moves into a story about a juice cleanse she tried once that was made from only things that grew in the forest and how it was so disgusting she lost five pounds in a weekend.

Linda examines her freshly painted nails, painted a soft coral that apparently matched her energy for the day, turning her hand slightly to catch the light. “You know,” she says casually, “he talked about you from the day he moved down here.”

I immediately open my mouth to deny.

“Oh no.” She raises her hand to stop my protest. “I didn’t know your name. Heck, he never even told me he was seeing someone!” she says indignantly. “But I knew.”

Nessa practically vibrates in her chair, leaning forward as if it’s story time. “Go on.”

Linda laughs. “It started with weird questions. Out of nowhere. Things Jackson has never cared about in his entire life.”

My stomach tightens, but I can’t help but ask, “Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She waves a hand dismissively. “One day he calls me asking if women actually notice flowers or if men only think women notice flowers. Then there was a twenty-minute discussion about throw blankets. Best size, if thread count mattered, that sort of thing.”

A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth, remembering the throw blanket he bought for my couch that was perfect for snuggling up with while reading case files.

“Then,” Linda continues, “he corrected me on some Regency thing.”

I blink. “What?”

“Apparently, ladies don’t simply ‘go for a walk.’ They take turns about the gardens or promenade or some nonsense.”

Nessa gasps. “He used the word promenade?”

Linda’s hand goes up in the air dramatically. “That’s exactly what I said!”