“Good. I’m still sticking around for a while. At least until I know she’s okay. But I can’t be next to her at all times. It helps to know there’s someone else looking out for her.”
“She wouldn’t take him back, would she?” I surprised myself with the question.
Stef seemed to enjoy the fact that I’d asked the question. “No. But she’s soft enough that she might try to help him clean himself up.”
“Fuck.”
“There’s nothing our girl loves more than getting her hands on a disaster and making it shine.” He gave me a long, even look, and I didn’t much care for the connotation.
I wasn’t a disaster. There was nothing wrong with me. I had my fucking life figured out.
“Fine. So what do we do in the meantime?”
“Money’s tight for her. She spent most of her own savings on the wedding.”
Fucking romantics. Never even considering that things could and would go horribly wrong.
“She’s prickly about taking loans or handouts. Though she might have no choice once her parents catch wind of the situation.”
“They blow into town pissed off at Evil Twin and then try to take care of down-on-her-luck Good Twin,” I guessed.
He tossed me a salute. “That about sums it up.”
I blew out a sigh. “She’s got no car, no computer. She’s picked up some bar shifts from me.”
But it wasn’t enough for a family of two to live off of for long. And the best paying shifts were nights, which meant someone had to watch Waylay.
Single moms were the world’s unsung fucking heroes.
Stef took his phone out of his back pocket, thumbs moving over the screen. “I’m going to apply some charming pressure and push her to put her house up for sale. She’s only had it two years, but she had a decent down payment, and property values are going up in that neighborhood. There should be enough equity there to help her cash flow problem.”
I searched my memory for something that was niggling in the back of my head. “Librarian said something about a part-time gig if a grant comes through. I could make sure that grant lands.”
He looked at me over his screen. “Putting those lottery winnings to good use?”
So Mr. Smooth had looked me up. It wasn’t exactly a secret. And I’d have done the same in his place.
“What exactly do you do?” I asked.
He shrugged, still typing. “A little of this. A little of that. I’ve got a guy who can deal with the house. As soon as she gives the okay, we’ll have an offer within a week. Two tops,” he predicted.
I drained the last of the coffee. “So she didn’t live with this asshole?”
“Not officially. He was going to move in with her after the wedding. Reluctant bastard liked having his own place. Especially since Naomi cleaned it for him and took care of his meals and laundry. I hope that fucker is sitting in a pair of dirty underwear sobbing into a pot of Campbell’s.”
I stared at him a beat. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Me?” Stef laughed, stowing his phone back in his pocket. “I’m the best friend. Naomi is family.”
“And you two never…”
He sat there smugly and waited for me to say it. “Never what?”
“Never…dated?”
“Not unless you count taking her to senior prom because Tina got caught with her mouth on Naomi’s date’s dick in the locker room at school.”
Fucking Tina.
“Naomi’s been my ride-or-die before ride-or-die was a thing. She has never once let me down and she’s forgiven me for the handful of occasions that I’ve let her down. She’s the most amazing woman I know, and that’s counting her mother, who’s pretty fucking awesome too. I don’t like it when people fuck with my family.”
I could respect that.
“I’ll take that grunt to mean we have an understanding. You’ll watch out for her. You won’t fuck with her. And together we’ll make sure Warner Fucking Dipshit the Third never gets within a city block of her.”
I nodded again. “Fine.”
“Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Why?”
“Oh, you want me to text Naomi when Warner shows up looking for her?”
I handed it over. Stef held it up to my scowling face to unlock it. “Huh. Wonder if it would unlock if you were smiling.”
“I don’t know. Never tried.”
He smirked. “I like you, Knox. You sure you’re not interested in our girl?”
“Definitely not,” I lied.
Stef studied me. “Hmm. You’re either dumber than you look or you’re a better liar than I thought.”
“Are you done? I’d like to get back to not having you in my house.”
MAKEOVERS FOR EVERYONE
Naomi
“Surprise!” Stef said as he pulled into a parking space directly in front of Whiskey Clipper.
Uh-oh.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“Back-to-school hair,” Stef said.
“Seriously?” Waylay asked, biting her lip. She couldn’t quite pull off the bored pre-teen vibe, and I knew it was going to be a good idea, even if it meant braving a run-in with Knox.
“Deadly, darling,” Stef said, hopping out from behind the wheel of his spiffy little Porsche SUV. He opened the back door for her. “First day of school is a fresh start for everyone. And from the reviews, this is the place for hair.”
I climbed out and joined them on the sidewalk.
Stef slung an arm around both of us. “First hair. Then lunch. Then nails. Then fashion show for first-day outfits.”
I grinned. “Outfits?”
“You’re walking Way to the bus. You need something that says ‘responsible yet hot aunt.’”
Waylay giggled. “Most moms just show up in pajamas or in sweaty workout stuff.”
“Exactly. We need to make a statement that the Witt women are fierce and fashionable.”
I rolled my eyes.
Stef caught me and crossed his arms in impatience. “What have I always told you, Naomi? And you listen to this too, Way.”
“When you look good, you feel good,” I recited.
“Good girl. Now get your cute little asses in there.”
The interior of Whiskey Clipper was cooler than any salon I’d ever set foot in. Instead of the muted pastels and spa music typical in most hair establishments, here it was brick walls and ’70s rock. Black-and-white photos of Knockemout in the early part of the 20th century hung in stylish gallery frames. One entire wall was dominated by a bar of decanters and bottles of whiskey. Exotic flower arrangements occupied the low, curved front desk and the whiskey bar.
The waiting area looked more like a VIP lounge with its leather couches and glass side tables. The concrete floor was covered with a faux cowhide rug.
It felt cool, a little steam-punky. And a lot expensive.
I turned to my friend and lowered my voice. “Stef, I know you were being nice, but money—”
“Shut your stupid beautiful face, Witty. This is on me.”
He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “I didn’t get you a wedding present.”
“Why not?”
He looked at me dryly for a long beat.
“Right. Of course you predicted it.”
“Look, you’re getting your ‘my fiancé likes my hair long’ shit cut into something you love. And that adorable smartass niece of ours is getting a style that is going to be more interesting to those little fuckers in the sixth grade.”
“You’re impossible to argue with, you know that?”
“You might as well save your energy and quit trying.”
“Hello, ladies and gentleman,” Jeremiah called from a station with an ornate mirror and a scarlet cape draped over the chair. “Who’s ready to change their lives today?”
Waylay sidled up to me. “Is he serious?”
Stef took her by the shoulders. “Listen, shorty. You’ve never experienced the miracle of the kind of haircut that is so good it parts the clouds and makes the angels sing. You’re in for a treat today.”
“What if I don’t like it?” she whispered.
“If you don’t like it, our next stop will be Target, and I’ll buy you every hair accessory in existence until we find the perfect way to style your new hair.”
“Your hair is yours. You get to decide what to do with it,” I assured her.
“You get to decide how you show up in this world. No one else gets to dictate to you who you are,” Stef said.
I knew he was saying it for Waylay’s benefit, but the truth resonated deep down inside me too. I’d lost myself while trying to convince someone else that I was what he wanted. I’d forgotten who I was because I’d let someone else take over the definition.
“Okay,” Waylay said. “But if I hate it, I’m going to blame you guys.”
“Let’s do this,” I said with conviction.
“There she is,” Stef said, booping my nose and then Waylay’s. “Now, let’s get started.” He made a beeline for Jeremiah.
“Your friend is weird,” Waylay whispered.
“I know.”
“I kinda like him.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
* * *