Whether a man would mention my hair or my eyes first was a toss-up. My eyes weren’t as closely set as Kirby’s, but they were the same almond shape, only slightly hooded. No matter how many YouTube makeup tutorials I’d watched, eyeliner was a waste of time. Makeup in general was a waste of time because I had never mastered the art, but for some reason, the shape of my eyes plus their bright green color were something my regulars would comment on often. That was only slightly more frequent than the mentions of the splash of freckles over my nose.
Kirby made herself at home, sitting on my sofa and leaning back into the cushions. “I love this old thing. I think it’s older than I am.”
“Older than both of us put together,” I said.
The loft had come furnished with all but the bed. I’d slept many nights on that sofa until I could save up enough to buy a frame and mattress. I deemed a headboard unnecessary. My tips were spent only on the bare essentials.
I sat in the scratchy orange swivel chair beside the sofa, watching Kirby frown as she sipped from her straw.
She turned her wrist to glance at the delicate black leather watch on her wrist, and then she heaved a dramatic sigh. “I hate him.”
“You do not.”
“I hate waiting. I feel like that sums up my entire relationship with Gunnar—waiting.”
“He adores you. He is taking all these classes to get a good job and give you everything you want when you’re his wife. It could be worse.”
“You’re right. He is the hottest thing in town—besides your new toy. Are you really going to let him take you to dinner?”
“A free dinner? Of course.”
“You can eat for free downstairs,” Kirby deadpanned, the tiny diamond stud in her nose glinting in the light.
Kirby’s dainty nose went with the rest of her petite features, including her size five-and-a-half feet. She was built like a high school cheerleader and smiled like Miss America. She could be a model or an actress, but instead, she was a waitress in the Springs.
“Why are you still here?” I asked, ignoring her point.
She made a face. “God, Falyn, sorry. I’ll wait downstairs.”
I reached out to her as she stood to leave. “No, dummy!”
I pulled her down, and she sat with a frown.
“I mean, why haven’t you bounced out of this town yet?”
Her face smoothed. “I like it here,” she said, shrugging. “And Gunnar is still in school. His parents will foot the bill as long as he stays home and helps with the ranch.”
“He’s still going to apply for the physician’s assistant program in Denver?”
“That’s why he’s staying close to home, doing his prerequisites for pre-PA at UCCS, and then he can transfer super easily to CU Denver.”
“You mean, he’s staying close to you.”
“Just to save money. Then we’ll move to Denver. Hopefully, I can find something there that’s flexible like this job, so I can work while he is in class.”
“I bet you can. Denver is … well, Denver. You’ll have options.”
Hope widened her eyes. “Where did you go? Not around here.”
I felt my expression involuntarily turn in. “I was premed at Dartmouth. Well, that was the intended direction anyway.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“It was a great year.”
“Just one year? You act like it was a lifetime ago.”
“Just one. And, yes, it feels that way.”
Kirby fingered the edge of the plastic lid on her to-go cup. “How long has it been since you left? Two years?”
“Four.”
“I’ve been working with you all year, and you’ve never talked about it. It has something to do with your parents, doesn’t it?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to ask.”
“By the time I thought we were close enough for me to broach the subject, I was afraid of what you might say.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” she asked. “Because if something happened to you there, you can talk to me. You know I won’t tell anyone, not even Gunnar.” Her perfect features were even more stunning when she was sad, her bottom lip even fuller when she pouted.
“Nothing bad happened to me at Dartmouth. I told you, I liked it there, but my tuition came with conditions I couldn’t agree to anymore.”
“Oh,” she said, a bit relieved. “Your parents.”
“Yes. Them.”
A knock on the door sounded again.
Kirby yelled, causing me to jump, “Come in!”
The knob turned, and in walked a mammoth man-child with the sweetest baby face and more muscles than his T-shirt could handle. He flipped his trucker hat backward with a quick motion, and caramel wisps fanned out in every direction from beneath the black mesh, refusing to behave. He rushed to the sofa to sit next to Kirby. “Damn it, baby, I’m sorry. Fucking night class and fucking traffic.”
She leaned over with a stoic expression, letting him kiss her cheek. She batted her long eyelashes.
She wasn’t fooling anyone. He was already forgiven.
He peered over at me. “I apologize for the language.”
I waved him away, dismissing his apology. “There are no rules here.” I looked around my loft with a grin. “That’s part of its charm.”