The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(47)

That kick was unnatural. I’d seen him surf so many times, both in person and on video.

It settled in my stomach, heavy and uneasy.

Whether he realized it or not, Wyatt had bailed on purpose.





14





Hannah





I was walking home from the store that evening, thinking about the husky way Wyatt’s voice had sounded that morning in the surf shop, when I paused in front of the hair salon.

What was it that Div had said? You should cut your hair. Something shoulder length and choppy.

My fingers toyed with my ponytail, pulling it over my shoulder and inspecting it. The ends were fried from the sun and salt water. I glanced back at the hair salon, where the stylist was blow drying someone’s hair, and then at my reflection in the window.

My hair had always been long and straight. I only ever had the ends trimmed. I never had a teenage phase where I did something crazy. I had never cut my own bangs. I had never ruined it with cheap box dye and then cried on my bed all night about how bad it looked. I never did anything interesting with it.

It was time to try something new.

An hour later, I walked out of the salon with something shoulder length and choppy. I paused again at my reflection in the window, back straight and head held high with a little smile on my face. I bit my lip and sucked in a deep breath.

I looked good. Really good. Hot, even.

My stomach swooped. It was working. The store was doing better, I had been going on dates and kissing and surfing and placing orders for wallpaper with giant flowers on it, and now, I had this cute haircut. I felt more like Thérèse every day.

I had the urge to stop by Wyatt’s place and show him my haircut.

I shoved the thought out of my head. I’d show him tomorrow morning for our surf lesson.

I took one last glance at myself in the window before walking home to get ready for my date with myself.





“Well, hello,” Avery said with a big smile as I stepped into The Arbutus. “Look at your hair! You look so chic.”

My eyes widened and I tugged the shorter ends. I kept touching my hair, expecting it to be long still. I couldn’t help beaming back at her.

She glanced behind me with a curious expression. “Is your dad here? I thought he was on Salt Spring still.”

“He is.” I only ever dined at The Arbutus with him. “Just me tonight.”

My face warmed as I glanced around the busy restaurant, filled with tables of couples, families, and friends, laughing and talking and reaching across the table and sharing dessert. I swallowed.

Wyatt had pressed on a sensitive spot. I’d never eaten in a restaurant by myself before. He knew how to push me one inch past my comfort zone. I glanced down at my outfit—a summer dress I had bought for my birthday last year and hadn’t worn. It was white linen with blue stripes and a V-neck. The white fabric brought out my tan, I had realized, standing in my bathroom at home, staring at myself. I had fumbled my way through eyeliner application, swiped on mascara, and rubbed a pretty pink lip balm onto my mouth. The necklace Avery had given me last year with the little blue stone hung around my neck.

Tonight, I felt pretty.

Avery led me to a table near the front window and I took a seat, placing my book on the table beside me.

“Does the owner always work as hostess?” I grinned at her as she slipped a menu in front of me.

“Only for very special customers.” She winked. “Wine?”

I nodded. “Yes, please. Surprise me.”

She smiled again and disappeared. My gaze swept around the restaurant again. I made eye contact with a man at another table and self-consciousness spiked in my gut. People were bound to notice I was alone. Did they think I was on a date with someone else, waiting for them? Would they think I got stood up? Would they think I was a loner?

I fiddled with my fingers, twisting and pressing on my bare nails before I forced myself to stop and laid them flat on my lap.

What would Wyatt say? He’d shrug and say, who cares what they think, bookworm? My mom would say the same thing. Thérèse would say something like, the power of the male gaze is restorative. I snorted to myself and took another glance around.

No one stared at me. Everyone had their own meals and conversations. I was the only one worrying.

My worry eased a fraction, and I opened my book.

Minutes later, Avery returned, set a wine glass in front of me and poured. “Veggie bowl?”

I paused. The veggie bowl was my standard order here. Always. Tonight wasn’t about routine, though.

I thought about the rest of my homework, Wyatt rasping the words against my skin in the dark, and I shivered. Tonight was about me. Tonight was about indulgence.

“Tonight, I’d like a bowl of pasta. A big one.” I nodded once. Yes. That was what I wanted. “With cheese, please.”

Avery lifted her eyebrows, scratching the order on a pad of paper. “And that is what you shall receive.” She glanced at me, that curious expression back on her face. “What made you cut your hair?”

I shrugged and touched it again. The ends were so much healthier and less tangled, and whatever products the stylist had used smelled incredible. Light, fresh, and pretty. “It was time for a change.”

“I love it. You look so cute. It’s so you.”