This time, Casey gave Ivy a heads-up.
I’m in the shop already. Came prepared with a latte on the off chance I scare your coffee out of your hands again. Now kick that fire chief of yours out of bed and get your ass to work so I can stop freaking out.
She hoped her best friend didn’t have her phone on Do Not Disturb and would actually see the text before arriving at the shop.
Casey paced, stopped, then paced some more. This time, she at least hadn’t run out on Boone while he was still sleeping. She had waited until he was in his brother’s capable hands, being admonished for not entirely adhering to doctor’s orders.
“You took it off early, didn’t you?” Eli had accused after he carefully and methodically unstrapped Boone’s arm and slid the sling off Boone’s shoulder.
“I—what? How would you even know that?” Boone asked, not even trying to lie.
Eli narrowed his eyes at his younger brother. “Your mobility right now,” he said, nodding at Boone, who’d already started rolling his shoulder back and forth. “It’s like you’ve done this before. Do I even want to ask why you risked surgery—or maybe even permanent damage—when all you had to do was get through one weekend taking it easy?”
Boone had glanced at Casey, who’d been pretending to admire Eli’s framed certificates and awards displayed on the exam room wall. When she didn’t return his gaze, Boone turned his attention back to his brother while Casey watched the two men out of the corner of her eye.
“I wasn’t riding—the horse or my bike—if that’s what you’re getting at,” Boone said. “I was careful, and it was necessary, and it was only for a little while before I strapped myself back in again. I told you I don’t need saving, Eli. I can take care of myself now.”
That had been Casey’s cue to leave or, to put a finer point on it, run away before things got too real.
“You’re in good hands,” she’d told Boone with a little too much vigor as she patted him firmly on the back. “So I’m gonna go…do a thing.” She nodded at Dr. Murphy. “Eli,” she added before hightailing it out the door and into her father’s borrowed truck, leaving Boone stranded with his brother as she sped into town to take refuge first in her makeshift salon—better known as her apartment bathroom—and soon after with her best friend.
It felt like hours before Ivy finally walked through the shop’s front door, but really, it had only been six minutes since Casey had let herself in. She’d been counting.
Ivy’s dark eyes were still sleep glazed when she shuffled through the door.
“I close the shop at noon on Mondays following holidays. Boss’s rule, and since I’m the boss, I gotta follow the rules I make,” she said with a yawn. “So this better be good.”
“Oh shit.” Casey winced. “I forgot about the Monday thing. But…I slept with Boone? That should account for my brain fog,” Casey said with a shrug and a nervous laugh.
Ivy’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Okay. This is good. Tell me everything.” Then she snorted. “Okay, maybe not everything. But I do already know about the briefs. I’ve even seen ’em.”
Casey’s mouth fell open. “You what? When? How?” But her brain started connecting the dots, and soon she was cracking up too. “Did he even realize I swiped his room key and gave it to you that morning? Or was he too concerned with being caught in his briefs by his girlfriend’s best friend?” She threw her hand over her mouth, but Ivy slapped it away.
“What…did you…just call yourself?” Ivy asked, her voice tentative but not without accusation.
“I don’t know,” Casey said. And she really didn’t have any clue where the—the—the G word came from. This was all still so new, but at the same time, it wasn’t.
Ivy narrowed her eyes, but all Casey could do was laugh nervously.
“Seriously, Ives. I’m freaking out. Again. What am I even doing? I barely have a month to secure my first payment to finish school, let alone figure out how I’m going to manage any sort of payment plan after that initial deposit. And then what? If I figure it all out, I get my certificate and do what I was supposed to do twelve years ago and leave Meadow Valley for somewhere that will give me the professional experience I need in order to open my own place? It’s déjà vu or history repeating itself or—” She gasped for air. “I. Don’t. Know.” She ripped her beanie off her head. “And look…”
Ivy blinked a few times before her lips broke into a smile, albeit a hesitant one. “It’s lavender!” she cried, her grin widening into near maniacal proportions. “And shorter,” she added, acknowledging Casey’s now chin-length bob.
Casey rolled her eyes. “I look like an Easter egg. In November. And my ends were not having it with the lightening, so I had to hack them off, and I hacked more than I intended. Let’s face it. I’m a thirty-year-old beauty school dropout who stress bakes and stress colors rather than process what’s actually going on in my head.” She pouted and dropped down to a squat, then collapsed onto her ass immediately after, huffing out a long breath as she dropped her head to her knees. “Not only am I Frenchy from Grease, but I’ve stayed Frenchy for the past twelve years.”
Ivy chuckled, and even though Casey wasn’t looking at her, she could tell the sound was genuine and not forced like her expression after seeing Casey’s hair. She could feel Ivy kiss the top of her head, then heard her plop down opposite her.
“You didn’t drop out of cosmetology school because you couldn’t hack it,” Ivy said softly.
Casey sighed and tilted her head up to meet her friend’s gaze. Both women rested their heads on their knees, their arms wrapped around their shins.
“I could totally hack it,” Casey admitted with a weak smile. Then she shook out her new do. “And hack it I did.”
They both burst into a fit of laughter, which helped ease the tension in Casey’s shoulders and lighten the invisible weight pressing down on her chest.
“How is it that you have all your shit together, and I feel like I’m spinning plates while riding a unicycle and playing an accordion?”
Ivy gasped. “Do you know how to play an accordion? Have you been holding out on me? When’s your next concert?”
Casey huffed out a laugh. “But nothing of my prowess as a unicycling plate spinner?”
“Please,” Ivy scoffed and waved her off. “Everyone knows you’re an expert at that.”
“True,” Casey sighed. “You can’t argue with talent.”
Ivy’s expression softened into a tender smile. “You’re allowed to get caught up in your own life every now and then. That’s the beauty of our friendship. Even when you might be a little scattered, I always know you love me.”
Casey’s throat tightened. “I do love you, Ives.”
“And I love you, my little Easter egg.” Ivy glanced around the shop, to the checkout desk several feet away from where they’d taken up residence on the floor. “Am I mistaken, or did you say something about coffee, because I think we’re going to be here for a while?”
Casey blew out a shaky breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the best?”
“Only every single day.” Ivy shrugged. “Carter’s sort of head over heels for me like that.”
Casey laughed. “As he should be. You can add me to that list as well.” She pushed herself up, strode to the desk, and then returned with two insulated coffee tumblers, one with a latte and the other with black coffee and cinnamon. She handed the latte to Ivy.
“Now,” Ivy started, “since I’m here and you’re here in a darling clothing boutique that is closed for the day and we’re doing this whole figure-you-out kind of thing, what would you say to a good old-fashioned fashion show?”
Casey gasped. “Like we did in high school? Should I see if my dad still has a bottle of peach brandy hiding behind the bar?”
Ivy wrinkled up her nose. “God no. But are you working today…or tonight?”
“Mom and Dad take Monday nights,” Casey said with a shake of her head. “And apparently Dr. Charlotte follows the same rule as you. Pediatrician’s office is technically closed, but the good doctor is, of course, on call for the emergency ear infection or strep test. But that means no extra income for Casey today.” She sighed.
Ivy pursed her lips. “You know you could always work here. I could afford to pay you for some part-time help. And if you need a loan—”
“You just shut your pretty little mouth, Ivy Serrano,” Casey demanded. “You and Carter are getting married in the spring, and I will not let you dip into the wedding fund, not even a little bit. And as for the part-time help, the most fashionable attire I own is the denim jumpsuit I wore for my interview. The rest is Midtown tees and a whole lot of denim that is not nearly as cute as that jumpsuit.”
Ivy cleared her throat. “Yeah, I’m going to need that jumpsuit back, Walsh. You left the tags on, right?”
“See?” Casey raised her brows. “It’s not even my jumpsuit. I’d definitely hinder rather than garner you any extra sales. Besides, things are just slow because of the holiday weekend. It’ll pick back up soon, and I’ll be moonlighting my way to beauty school graduate.” She paused. “Right?”
“Right!” Ivy insisted with enough confidence that Casey practically believed her. Ivy held up her travel mug, and Casey clinked it with the bottom of hers. “To the year of Casey. Because you deserve so much more than a day.”
The two women took long swigs of their morning beverages like Casey was standing behind the bar and had just poured them each a pint.
“And because it’s almost lunchtime,” Ivy said, “and we both technically have the day off, I have some single serving cans of Crossroads Sparkling Rosé in the mini fridge. I hear it’s much better than peach brandy.”
Ivy stood and then held a hand out for her friend.
Casey grabbed on and let Ivy pull her up. “This is perfect,” she agreed. “Exactly what I need to clear my head. A throwback fashion show with a little present-day bubbly. Let’s do it!”
Twelve Years Ago
Boone and his buddy Peyton sat atop the fence to the Murphy Horse Ranch’s arena, their boots tucked behind a slat for purchase.
“You boys ready?” Ivy asked, peeking out from the barn door. “Because this is Casey Walsh like you’ve never seen her before.”
Casey’s palms were sweaty, and her cheeks and throat and belly felt hot. She wasn’t sure if it was the awful peach-flavored liquor she and Ivy had just downed or the aftereffects, like everything in her stomach threatening to come back up.
She squared her shoulders and smoothed the fitted—and now cropped after Ivy’s scissors had their way—white ribbed tank over her torso. Then she tugged at the black striped tie she’d stolen from her dad’s closet, onto which she’d let Ivy embroider bright pink and yellow flowers, loosening it even more. Even the cargo jeans were stolen—er, repurposed—from Ivy’s brother Charlie’s collection. They were huge on Casey and had to be held up with a belt. She’d watched Ivy take a cheese grater to the thighs of Charlie’s jeans to make them look perfectly ripped. “Without having to pay perfectly ripped prices!” Ivy had exclaimed. “Which is exactly how they should be,” she had added, “if we’re going to pull off this retro Avril Lavigne skater girl vibe—with an Ivy Serrano twist, of course.”
Ivy twirled the lone blue lock of Casey’s otherwise blond hair around her finger.
“You’re perfect for this look. Just promise me you’ll always stay blond like the Disney princess you were born to be with that tall, dark, and handsome prince waiting for you outside.”
Casey snorted. “I am so not a Disney princess, which means I don’t have to adhere to any rules that might pigeonhole me as such. I am my own person, blond hair or not.”
“Fine,” Ivy said. “Badass princess who chooses her own path and her own happily ever after, whether it’s with a prince, a rancher who likes to work on cars and ride motorcycles, or whoever.” She winked at Casey and then pushed her through the barn door.