A Brush with Love: A January Wedding Story (A Year of Weddings 2 #2)(3)

Ginger laughed. “Good point. You can get Victor Reynolds to take you to a romantic dinner instead.”

“Ha! Haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

Ginger lowered her paint roller. “Really? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . I’m twenty-nine, divorced, living in my hometown with my parents, in my old bedroom, and when all is said and done, I can’t keep the interest of Victor Reynolds.” Ruby-Jane’s expression soured. “Victor Reynolds . . . who couldn’t get a date to save his life in high school.”

“You and me . . .” Ginger rolled paint against the wall. “The single sisters in solidarity.”

“Ugh, so depressing. At least you have a life calling. A skill.” Ruby-Jane loaded her roller with paint. “You can take an ordinary woman and make her extraordinarily beautiful.”

“I love what I do.” Ginger glanced around the shop. “And I want to make this the best place in the county for hair, makeup, and all things beautiful. Next year, I hope to have an esthetician on staff.”

She stepped back to admire the beige-pink covering the dull yellow wall. Beautiful. She loved it.

Making things—women—beautiful was her calling, her duty in life. She channeled every ounce of her heart and soul into her work because the truth was, she could never do it for herself.

And this weekend Ginger would play her role as a behind-the-scenes stylist, or as Tracie Blue called her, “the beauty-maker,” for the Alabama society wedding of the year, if not the decade.

Socialite Bridgett Maynard was marrying the governor’s son, Eric James. A pair of Rosebud High sweethearts, the beautiful people, united under their umbrellas of success and wealth.

While Ginger was looking forward to working with Bridgett, she did not look forward to the weekend. She’d have to live among them at the old plantation.

“Well, if anyone can make this place a success, it’s you, Ginger. Last time I saw Mrs. Henderson, she was still smiling over how you styled her hair.”

“Grandpa was the first to tell me I could see the beauty in everyone else.” She saw it that day Mrs. Henderson sat in her chair, with her wilting, over-dyed, over-permed hair. “I believed him. He’d buy me a new baby doll every month because I’d cut the hair off the old one. Right down to their plastic scalps.” Ginger’s heart laughed. “Mama would get mad. ‘Daddy, stop wasting your money. She’s just going to destroy this one.’ And he’d say, ‘She’s becoming who she’s meant to be.’ ” Ginger added paint to her roller and started a slow roll along the wall, the blue sparkle of her grandpa’s eyes making her warm and sentimental.

She missed Gramps, a stable force in her trailer park life, always making her feel safe. Especially when Daddy left. And again after the fire.

Then came Tom Wells. Ginger shook his name free from her thoughts. He didn’t deserve any part of her memories. Handsome high school boy who disappeared on her and broke her heart.

She’d pushed him out of her mind until she moved back to Rosebud. Until Bridgett walked into the shop three months ago, begging Ginger to be her wedding stylist, and the boxed memories of her youth in Rosebud, of her high school days, busted out.

“Can I ask you something?” Ruby-Jane said, pressing the last bit of paint in her brush against the wall. “Why did you leave Tracie Blue? Really. Not because Maggie called you about this place.”

“It was time.”

“Did something happen? It wasn’t because of your scars—”

“Nope.”

“Because that would be crazy, you know. You were on the road with her for three years. Your scars weren’t a factor.”

Oh, but they were.

Tears blurred Ginger’s eyes as she covered the old wall with a thick swath of paint. Goodbye old. Hello new. She hated lying to RJ, but talking about her departure from Tracie Blue sliced through the wounds no one could really see.

Ugly. That’s what one tabloid called her. She’d found an article on the Internet one day last year naming the ugliest stylists to the stars. And Ginger Winters was number one.

Where they found that odd picture of her with her neck exposed, she’d never know.

Ginger swallowed a rise of bitter bile, inhaling, wrestling to shove the accusation out of her mind.

Yet she wasn’t sure how to get it out of her heart. The words formed wounds and scars beneath her skin, creating tentacles of shame no long sleeves or colorful scarves could cover.

Ginger stepped back once again to admire her portion of the wall. “What do you think?”

“I like it,” Ruby-Jane said. “A lot.”

“Me too.” The shop was starting to really feel like hers.

The top-of-the-hour news came on the radio. Ginger peeked at the wall clock. Eleven. “Hungry? Let’s order lunch from Antony’s,” she said, cradling the brush handle against her shoulder, tugging her phone from her jeans pocket. “I’m thinking a large cheese pizza.”

“You’re singing my song. Oh, order some cheese bread too.” Ruby-Jane stepped back, inspecting her work. “Love this color, Ginger. The shop is going to look amazing.”

“I was searching online for new light fixtures last night and . . . Hey, Anthony, this is Ginger down at Ginger Snips. Good, good, how are you? Yes, please . . . a large cheese . . . thin crust, yep . . . and an order of cheese bread. No, for Ruby-Jane . . . I know, she’s a carb addict.”