“How are you, Nana?”
“Relieved to hear from you, honey. Where on earth did you disappear to?”
“I’m in Georgia.”
Nana laughed. “Good for you. Now tell me what’s going on, and fill me in on what really happened before the wedding.”
Lucinda explained about finding Donald with his ex, her escape, breakdown and rescue.
Her grandmother sighed. “You stay right where you are, you hear me? And if you run into Donald again, give him hell! What a donkey’s behind!”
Lucinda frowned into the phone. “I thought you liked him.”
“I put up with the worm because you liked him.”
“I…” She hesitated. “You know, Nana, I don’t think I ever really did. He was convenient.”
“Hallelujah, sweetie! My faith in you is restored.”
With plenty of time to spare before Marsha’s appointment, Lucy parked the Jeep at the end of Main Street, wanting to walk a bit. Today she’d dressed in casual white capris and a silky aqua tank top. Matching aqua sandals and designer bag finished her outfit. She’d pulled her long red curls up in a clip in an attempt to beat the heat that would attack later.
As she cranked quarters into the parking meter, her gaze traveled down the center of town. Potted petunias and geraniums lined the street, hung from lampposts and spilled from window boxes. An American flag flapped in the breeze. The malt-shop sign boasted an enormous double-scoop chocolate-and-vanilla cone with a bright red cherry on top.
Americana at its very best.
She half expected Opie or Barnie to come waltzing out of the five-and-dime or Andy Griffith, wearing his sheriff’s badge, to come down the walk whistling “The Fishing Hole.”
Oh, my gosh. The sheriff in town actually was an Andy—or Andrew! But Andy of Mayberry would never have orchestrated last evening’s fiasco.
She tipped her face to the sun, making a conscious effort to put all that out of her mind. She and Marsha and Birdie were going to work a little magic this morning. Today was all about having a bit of fun. She intended to play the role of Marsha’s fairy godmother. And it felt good.
Her eyes refocused on the street. No Starbucks. No Chico’s or Bloomingdale’s. If she judged the business district and the town by the number of upscale shops or fancy cars parked in front of those shops, Pride was less than she was used to. But if she scored the town on charm, on friendly people who had the time to ask her how she was and then actually listen to her answer, it was so much more. The small community soared to the top of the quality-of-life index. Ranked number one in her book as a place to live.
Pride, Georgia, was unapologetically low-key, and she was falling in love with it.
And Jake? What about him? She lifted her eyes skyward. Best not to go there.
Reaching Birdie’s Beauty Shoppe, she stopped out front and hugged herself. Pure whimsy shouted from the window art. Birds of all colors flew across the glass, carrying combs, brushes, rollers, scissors—all the tools of Birdie’s trade—in their beaks. Pastel-painted flowers and ribbons added the finishing touches to the display.
A bell tinkled merrily as Lucinda pushed open the door. The shop’s interior didn’t disappoint. It was very obviously a working salon, but the warmth and charm of the place took away the antiseptic feel. A fireplace, its dark cherry mantle glistening, lent an Old World feel. A chintz loveseat and chair invited clients to relax while they waited. Plants and magazines added to the cozy ambience.
It was so different from what she was used to. No receptionist rushed to offer her fancy champagne and a smock. No shampooer hurried to greet her, anxious to earn her tip. No assistants. No glitz and polish. Just Birdie and one other hairdresser.
“Hey, Lucy.” Birdie held a hairdryer in one hand, a round brush in the other. An older woman, probably Vonnie Mae, sat in her chair, draped in a black cape. She pointed to the man at the station across the room. “Chad Adams, my right-hand man. Chad, Lucinda Darling.”
Chad, swathed in a purple smock, had streaked blond hair that stuck straight up. Lucinda imagined he must single-handedly keep the gel industry happy and prosperous.
“Oh, God! It really is you!” He danced across the floor to take her hand. Raising it to his lips, he brushed a light kiss on the back. “Lucinda Darling. Here in Birdie’s shop. In Pride!”
Marsha entered the salon in the middle of Chad’s adulation. “Hey, y’all.”
“Good morning, Marsha.” Lucinda smiled at her, amazed at how much younger she looked. At the bar last night, she’d worn way too much makeup, far too little clothing. Lucinda gently withdrew her hand from Chad’s.