Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) (26 page)

“Love you,” I say.

Looking over my shoulder, I motion for Sydney to come over to us. When she does I take her hand.

“Goodbye,” she murmurs.

My mom smiles at her while my dad sleepily mumbles his own farewell.

We don’t linger. Still holding her hand, I lead Sydney out.

“It’s because of her,” I say.

“What?” Sydney asks.

“The answer to your earlier question. My dad isn’t falling apart because he still has her. He won’t fall apart until she’s gone.”

“Bittersweet,” she replies.

I walk Sydney to her new ride. It’ll take some time to get used to her not driving her bug. This car blends in more whereas her bug didn’t.

She clicks the locks and I open her door for her.

“What are you and Cecil doing tonight?” I ask.

She grins. “My hair.”

Reaching up, I twirl a strand of her blonde hair. “What are you doing to it?”

“Cecil wants to blend some darker shades into it. He says I’m lacking dimension.”

I’ve seen her blonde and raven haired and she pulled off both looks in a big way. “For the record, I don’t think you need to change a thing but the black looked hot too, so a blend of the two might kill me. Text me a picture once you’re done.”

Her eyes warm as she nods. “I will, or maybe I’ll wait and it’ll be a surprise.”

I close her door and she hits the button to roll down her window. “Don’t make me wait too long,” I joke and then add, “Thanks for coming over.”

She leans closer to the window, resting her arm on it. “You need me, I’m there.”

I kiss her, hard and wet, and not nearly as long as I’d like to. “Thank you.”

It’s not until her SUV is out of sight that I move to my car. Going to work in the morning isn’t a big deal. It’s so routine I don’t even think about it. It’s going back to work after lunch with my mom that’s harder. The autopilot mode I’m in each morning has worn off, leaving me free to overthink things.

Each time I leave, I wonder if it will be our last good-bye. That sticks with me, like a damp that never fully dries. It’s a cloud hovering over the rest of my day. In body, I’m at work, going through the motions. My mind never fully comes back with me.

Today, it’s split in three directions. Now I’m also thinking about when I’ll be able to spend some actual time with Sydney. The only thing I might be able to swing today is a drive-by booty call on my way home from work. That’s not the way to convince a woman you’re interested in more than her body.

Plus, her friend Cecil is there, so dragging her to my bedroom for a quick fuck would be awkward. I could do a drive-by kiss like this morning, only that left me wanting so much more.

What does that leave me with? Not really spending time with her alone until after. . . . I can’t even finish the thought. It’s confusing to be right smack in the beginning of something good, ready to take the next step while also being at the end of something you aren’t even close to being ready to let go.

Stuck, that’s all I am.

Logging back on to my computer, I try to focus on the projects that need my input. Instead, my eyes are drawn from the work on my screen to the pictures on my desk.

I’m not the one who framed them; that was all my mom. The picture furthest from me is from my high school graduation. My mom was seriously not doing well in that picture but only my dad and I knew that.

She was on a mission that day. There was no way she was going to miss my graduation. Her happiness at being there, at watching me graduate, shines through the picture of the two of us. My dad wasn’t in this shot, probably being the one who took it. The next picture is from a couple of months after the first. When we were on our trip to Europe before I went away to college. We took a boat tour of the Seine. I’m sitting on the bench at the back of the boat with Mom right next to me. Neither of us are looking at the camera. We’re looking at each other and laughing at something; I can’t even remember what. But I wish I could.

This picture is my biggest fear. Will all I have from our time together be pictures I can’t remember the stories behind? I don’t want to forget one thing about her. I want her to stay so real in my mind that one day, I’ll be able to make her real for my kids. I don’t want her to become just a woman smiling in a photo.

As soon as I get back to Heath’s, Cecil gets to work on my hair. While he works, I tell him about lunch with Heath and his parents.

“I don’t know how either of them do it,” I murmur.

“They love her, honey,” he replies. “Just like Gigi loves you when she was helping you bathe while you had all your casts.”

“This is different,” I argue. “I wanted to cry just looking at her and I barely know her.”

“You don’t think we cried when we first saw you after that mudslide?” he counters.

“I’m not dying. While what happened to me was extreme and awful for the people who love me, this has to be worse.”

“This is why you should send that man a text of your boobs,” Cecil replies.

I swing my hand backward in an attempt to slap his leg but he easily side steps me. “I’m not sexting him. His mother is dying. If anything, I should be sending him motivational quotes, not boobs.”

His reflection shakes his head at me. “Do not underestimate the power of boobs in cheering up a man.”

I roll my eyes as he curls another chunk of my hair. To make the final reveal a surprise, after he washed and dried it, he’s keeping all of it pinned back to where I can’t see it.

All I can see is that the top part doesn’t seem that different than what it looked like when we started. He finishes the curl he was working on and sets the iron on the bathroom counter. Then, he starts pulling the pins from my hair, setting each one by one next to the curling iron. Once all of the pins are out, he slides his hands under my hair and then, fingers spread wide, up and over my scalp.

When he’s done, it falls naturally in big loose curls that frame my face.

“I love it,” I whisper, fluffing my hair in the mirror.

Cecil is convinced he can teach me some funky ways to braid it. He swears with my new color it will look awesome. Still, if I can’t do the braids on my own, I might get it cut shorter. The thing I’m not on the fence about at all is the color. It is gorgeous.

He kept my light blonde but blended in four other colors. The light blonde is the main color closest to my roots, which, for maintenance, is perfect since I won’t have to stress out about touch up. The four other colors blend perfectly going from light to dark, from the top of my head at the lightest, with the ends of my hair being the darkest.

Then, he worked the color in long strips as well. The change is dramatic while still natural since the colors all work well together. The darkest color he used was a medium brown, making it look surprisingly natural.

He holds his chin, rubbing his thumb back and forth across it. “You can thank me by making me an apple pie that I can take home with me.”

“Deal,” I reply, running my fingers through my hair.

Grabbing my phone from the counter, I quickly snap a couple selfies so I can text one to Heath. “Which one do you think I look the best in?”

He picks the one that has a hint of cleavage, his reasoning: boobs.

“Now, go get your work stuff done so you can get your ass back here and we can go to Aho Jose’s,” he orders.

I turn and press a kiss to his cheek. “Want me to bring back a piece of pie for after dinner?”

He smirks. “Honey, don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

I grin before I get my booty moving so I can go to Lola’s. I can live with working in the back office until my boot’s off since it will be the perfect way to ease myself back in. I’m only going to work for three hours. Cecil is planning to watch
Pitch Perfect 1
and
2
while I’m gone. It sucks that he isn’t doing anything fun on his time off. He keeps telling me all he wants to do is hang with me, but I still want to come up with something fun for him to do. Maybe I’ll invite a few people to meet us out for dinner.

On that thought, I fire off a text to Reilly and Jake. Reilly gave me her number when she visited me and I’ve had Jake’s since that one time he crashed at my place. The only way I’m going to become better friends with Heath’s friends is if I put myself out there.

Reilly texts back right away saying she’d love to come. There’s another new text and it’s from Heath in response to the pic I sent.

- Looks beautiful. Heads up, this pic is now my lock screen.

I can’t help but grin. Then I text back—No fair! Send me one of you!

- Not gonna happen.

I frown and I text back—Pretty pretty please.

“I should be recording you texting so you can see your facial expressions,” Cecil mutters, walking out of the bathroom.

I start to argue but then see Heath has replied. Then I laugh at the pic he sent. He’s doing full-on teenage girl, head tilt, duck face. It’s annoying how he still manages to look hot even when he looks ridiculous.

- I’m never changing my lock screen from this pic, I reply.

His response is swift—Neither am I.

I press my phone to my chest and sigh. I was being funny but he was just so sweet.

Cecil pops his head into the doorway. “Seriously, I should have recorded this shit. Now, stop texting your man and get to work.”

It’s not until I’m pulling into Lola’s that I get Jake’s reply, confirming Kacey and he will be there.

“I love your hair,” Clarey cries when I walk in.

Since I’m not cooking or serving anything, it’s still down and in all of its Cecil-styled glory.

“Thank you,” I reply with a grin.

“Where’d you get it done?” she asks.

Her hair looks like it could use Cecil’s touch. “I have a friend visiting from Frisco who did it. If you want, I can see if he can do yours.”

She gasps, then asks, “Do you think he would?”

One look at her over processed hair and I’m pretty sure he would consider it his civic duty. I don’t say that though.

“Can’t hurt to ask. What time are you off?”

She glances at the clock hanging over the register. “I’m off in thirty.”

“Are you free after?”

She nods and I lean my cane against the wall to pull out my phone. When I do I see there’s a text from Trip asking if I have plans tonight. I reply, inviting him to join all of us at Aho Jose’s. Then, I text Cecil to see if he’ll fix Clarey’s hair.

Once I get his response, I tell Clarey, “He’ll do it only if you promise not to talk through
Pitch Perfect.
”

She grins. “Deal.”

Knowing Clarey will be keeping Cecil company, even if it’s while he’s doing her hair, takes a weight off my shoulders. He’s currently the only legit friend I have. Cecil claims just seeing me is enough. I still want him to have fun while he’s here so he’s going to have to deal with me trying to entertain him anyway.

Clarey fits that bill perfectly. In fact, since I’m pretty sure she’s single, they might hit it off.

He’s told me a million times he isn’t ready to date anyone seriously. Outside of our friendship, he avoids commitment in all things. He even has a minor freak out every time he renews his lease. A vacation fling might be exactly what he needs. Clarey has a tendency to gossip but otherwise, she’s fun to work with.

Rounding the desk, I see Gigi has labeled what she wants me to tackle with Post-it notes. Sinking down into the chair, I stop mentally matchmaking and get to work. At first, I stare at the notes feeling like an idiot.

Okay, make a schedule.

Have I completely forgotten how to make a schedule? It takes a few minutes of clicking on different programs for it to slowly start coming back to me. It’s like the first time I washed my hair after the cast on my arm came off. Everything about it was foreign at first. My fingers were confused and it took a minute of lathering for them to get the hang of it again.

It’s the same way with this. I know how to make a schedule. I’ve just forgotten the steps along the way. It takes me twice as long as it normally would because part way through, I anger the system by pressing the wrong button and adding an eighth day to the week, right between Wednesday and Thursday.

I contemplate naming it Lazday but figure it smarter to remove it instead. When I go to do that, I delete everything. Trying not to panic, I attempt to undo deleting everything and the system crashes.

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiiiiit.

Clenching my teeth, I have no choice but to restart the computer.

To stop myself from freaking out any more, while the computer’s restarting, I head out to grab a cookie and a milkshake. Admittedly, it’s an excuse to leave the office so I don’t take a baseball bat to the machine.

Armed with only my milkshake, since the cookie didn’t make it past the counter, I head back into the office. This time around, I’m able to dive into scheduling much faster than my first go.

I’m careful not to create any extra days and after a bit, have the schedule saved and printed. I slip the copy into a tray that Gigi checks each morning.

As long as I haven’t screwed up, it’ll be one less thing for her to worry about tomorrow. Next, I review our standing supply delivery for the next week. This doesn’t take as long as making the schedule does. Our weekly orders, for the most part, stay fairly consistent. Depending on the season, we might order more of some things certain times during the year. Since the menu hasn’t evolved too much, it’s made placing orders pretty routine.