“I’d rather remember Tristan’s.”
“And that’s all it’ll ever be for you – a memory,” I shot back.
“If you were so sure of that, you wouldn’t have been bothered by us being friends. Like I said – insecure.”
I shrugged. “You call it insecurity, I call it a demand that the boundaries of our relationship are well-defined and respected. Either way, you’re looking like a fucking fool, arguing with a woman who cares nothing about you over a man who doesn’t want you. Only one of us is going out sad in this situation, dear,” I smiled, then turned back to Andrea. “Can we…?”
“Of course,” Andrea chirped, beaming. “Let’s get you together with a fresh style for your man to fuck up.”
If Nya had anything else to say, I didn’t hear it.
Really.
I tuned her completely out, losing myself in the hum of the dryer and my own thoughts – beating myself up for responding to her bullshit at all.
It was another thing I was losing – the discipline.
Getting provoked by words?
Never.
Not before.
Between everything – good and bad – with Tristan, these interactions with Kiara and other people in the neighborhood, this thing with Nya… shit.
I’d never been so reactionary and emotional and… human.
I stopped beating myself up over it when I thought about it like that.
For better or worse, this was what I’d wanted.
And really… it wasn’t so bad.
I scheduled a follow-up with Andrea in two weeks and then went on my way, stopping by Urban Grind for my brown sugar cinnamon iced latte first. I’d given myself the lofty goal of opening the shop in the next few weeks, so I had candles and labels to make.
As I was standing in line for my drink, I glanced out the window to look across the street. To my surprise, there was a woman standing there, peering up at the Wax Poetic logo, and then into the store. It didn’t seem like a big deal, so I went about my business, but once I’d gotten my drink and was headed out, the woman was still there.
That was a little strange.
My phone started ringing, so I pulled it out, smiling when I saw Dacia’s name on the screen. Besides the fact that being on the phone was a great cover, I hadn’t actually spoken to her in a while.
“Hello?” I answered, my eyes still on the stranger in front of my shop as I crossed the street.
“Hey, where are you?” Dacia asked, on the other end of the line, her voice creating a weird echo… that didn’t seem so weird at all when the “stranger” finally turned so I could see her profile.
“Dosh!” I yelled, my outburst startling her for a moment until she turned to see me rushing in her direction. I ended the call, dropping the phone into my pocket as I opted to hug her in real life instead of bothering with the phone. “What are you doing here?!”
She laughed, hugging me back with the same excited energy I’d given her. “I just… needed a change of scenery, and I wanted to see the shop, and wanted to see you. So here I am.”
Yes, indeed, she was.
Looking so much healthier than the last time I saw her.
There wasn’t a rose among us who’d escaped the Garden with no trauma, but Dacia had gone through… even more. She was managing well enough – as well as could be expected – but the last time I’d seen her in person, it was so evident in her eyes.
Now, her pretty brown eyes were clear and happy, and she’d let go of the baggy clothes and simple slicked-back ponytail she’d been using as armor. No wonder I hadn’t recognized her. She was, now, as I remembered her from the Garden, when she’d been utilized to teach the petals their hair and makeup.
Face done, curls big and free, a cute outfit.
Her natural setpoint.
“Well, come in,” I insisted, balancing my cup in the bend of my arm so I could unlock the door.
She squealed when she stepped in, looking around as I tended to the alarm. “So you were really not messing around when you said you were doing this, huh?”
“I was really not.”
I grinned as she picked up one of the candles, taking the top off to bring it to her nose. “Oooh, this smells good,” she gushed, turning it to look at the label. “Brown Sugar Cinnamon Latte,” she read, then looked at me. “Is that what’s in the cup?”
“Yup. Today at least,” I amended, laughing. “I’ve been discovering new favorites on a weekly basis, so I’ve done scents to match several.”
“Is that gonna be your thing? All coffeehouse scents?”
“Nah.” I picked up a different one, handing it to her. “My thing is gonna be… stuff I love.”
She lifted an eyebrow at me as she inhaled the one I’d given her, then looked to see the label – it didn’t have one. “Temp, this… smells like a man. So you’re in love now?”
“With him? No. I mean… I don’t know. It’s way too soon to know something like that,” I stammered. “But I definitely love the way he smells. That’s without question.”
I took the candle from her to breathe it in again, pleased that I’d been able to capture that pleasing signature cedar and citrus Tristan seemed to carry with him.
“Why doesn’t it have a label?” Dacia asked, and I shrugged.
“I haven’t come up with the name for it yet.”
She smirked. “Just call it… Tristan,” she teased, putting this breathy gasp of air with it that made me laugh. “Seriously – I want to meet his ass.”
“I think I can make that happen. We can—”
“Knock-knock!”
I heard, at the same time as the bell over the door sounded, signaling that someone had come in. We looked up to see Carlos from next door standing there, hands propped on
