Love Starts with Elle(55)

“Shh, don’t spoil the moment.”

When they reached the floor, Heath spun her into his arms, holding her to his chest.

“Elle, I have to go to New York in a few weeks to accept an award for Ava.” She listened, her hips swaying with his. “Can you watch Tracey-Love for me? I’ll pay you.”

She lifted her face. “Pay me? Heath, you’re in the South, dear heart. We take care of our friends, no debt incurred.”

“This is the first time I’ve left her overnight since Ava died.”

“I’ll get Rio to sleep over and she won’t have time to miss you. Funny, isn’t it?” She rested her face against his chest. “Just because someone dies it doesn’t always mean their life is over.”

Heath pressed his hand against the silk of her hair. Forget the walls and borders, the No Detour signs. Maybe he’d start falling in love with her when he got back from New York, or after he read Ava’s letter, perhaps even tomorrow. Or maybe he’d start falling a little bit right now.



Monday afternoon Julianne barged into the studio. “Come with me.”

She ran back out the door calling, “Hurry.”

“To where?” Elle hollered out the window, the two o’clock sun reflecting off Julianne’s windshield. “I have a brush full of paint.”

“Well, clean it up, but hurry.”

Ripping paper towels, Elle wiped her brushes, good enough for the moment since she’d be back to finish. Dang Julianne. Elle was just getting into this painting from a lowcountry photo.

She scurried around for her shoes as Julianne hollered, “Come on.” Beep, beep.

Finally, wearing two different flip-flops, Elle ran down the stairs and jumped into Julianne’s car. As she barreled down Lady’s Island Road with the top down on her ’85 Rabbit, Elle hung white-knuckled on to the passenger-door handle. Keith Urban sang from the stereo about needing a faster car.

“Do you have a hair tie?” Elle popped open Julianne’s glove box. About a hundred McDonald’s ketchup packets fell to her feet. But no hair tie.

So Elle held her hair with her hands, the ends tangling about her face, as Julianne jerked the Rabbit into the east-bound lane to pass the car ahead of her.

“Jules—” Elle pressed her foot against the floorboard.

The Rabbit’s engine wound down. “Sorry, I’m just excited.”

At the Meridian Road intersection, Julianne mashed the break and swung into a short, gravel parking lot attached to what used to be a beauty salon—its heyday in the era of the frosted beehives.

Lady’s Island Beauty.

“Jules,” Elle said, climbing out of the car, raking the wind from her hair. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but this place is closed.”

“Remember how we used to make up stories about this place when we passed it?” Julianne hurried to the porch, which was broken down on one side.

“When did we love this place and make up stories?” Elle hitched up her baggy, paint-stained shorts.

“I thought it was you. Maybe it was Candace and me.” Julianne jumped to the center of the porch and flung her arms wide. “Elle, ta-da! Welcome to Julianne’s, Beaufort’s newest and hippest salon.” The clouds moved away from the sun and light fell over Julianne’s feet.

“You bought this place?” Elle joined her on the porch, scarred and beat up with the rugged wheel marks of skateboarders. “When? How?”

“Today.” Julianne held up a single key connected to a red twisty tie. “I finally have my own shop. No more working for the man.” She scrunched up her shoulders and wrinkled her nose. “Even though Charlie is a woman.”

“Is this why you’ve been so secretive?” Elle followed Julianne inside, breathing a dense, musty odor.

“Elle, open the window over there, will you?”

“Jules . . .” Elle tugged at the lower pane. “This place needs a lot of work.” The window was painted shut.

“Most great things do, Elle.” Julianne’s hips wiggled as she tried to raise her window, but it was also sealed shut. In fact, none of the windows opened and when Julianne flipped the switch for the ceiling fans, the paddles moved once, then stopped.

Julianne gazed up, hands on her hips. “Looks like I’ll have to get Buster out here first thing.” Elle noted her relaxed attitude. “Now I know how you felt when you bought the gallery. Elle, let’s spend the night here.”

“We’d have to sleep with the front door open, Julianne. What’d you pay for this place?”

“I got it at a fair price, Elle.” Julianne opened the cupboard doors, wincing as she pulled out a dead rat by the tail. “Ew.”

“What’s a fair price? You bought that piece-o-junk car for a thousand more than it was worth new in ’85. Did you at least talk to Daddy or Candy?”

“I had all the expert advice I needed.” Julianne dumped the rat in the solitary trash can. Her tone chilled the air between them. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl, all grown up with a daughter of my own.”

“Whose advice? Money is not your strong suit, Jules.” Elle walked past the out-of-date stylist stations.

“Really, Elle, you ask too many questions.”