Almost Like Being in Love (15 page)

“I'm not a professional home stager, Kade.”

“I know you're not a professional, but you're a natural. You're even better than some of the home stagers I've worked with in the past. I've seen some of the houses you've decorated for your father, remember? I've also seen your home. That's all the résumé I need.”

“What kind of project are we talking about?”

Was she actually considering his request?

“I'm helping a custom homebuilder who's participating in the Peak Tour of Homes. Paying his fees, buying him better signage, that kind of thing. I also said I'd stage the home for him. But the stager I usually work with just left town to help take care of her sister, who fell and broke her wrist and ankle.”

“Not good.”

“I know, and I should be feeling bad for that woman, but I'm panicking here. Sheila—the home stager—gave me some other people to contact, but they're all dead ends.”

“So you're panicked and I'm your last resort.”

Kade pressed his fingertips into his temple. What did she expect him to say? “Caron, you know as well as I do that I'm calling you under less than perfect circumstances, and not just because I'm up against a deadline. But I have no doubt
you can come through on this. I've asked the question. Now I need to know if you're interested. I'll fly you out here, put you up in a hotel, pay you per diem, cover your meals, car, whatever—”

“I can't give you an answer right now, Kade—”

“That is an answer, Caron. It's a no.”

•  •  •

This was not the time to be having this conversation with Kade Webster.

She shouldn't be talking to the man at all, but especially not now when she was already facing one major decision.

Caron held up her hand in the universal “just one minute” sign, offering the receptionist at the hair salon a smile that begged for understanding.

She'd had to force herself to walk through the door, reminding herself this wasn't the first time she'd done something different to her hair. That she could trust Paula, her stylist. But it was as if the shadow of her father lurked in the back of her mind, causing her to question what hairstyle to choose.

Surely she was capable of getting her hair done without worrying about what her father would say. He wasn't her boss anymore. She could do whatever she wanted, including dye her hair blue or even shave half her head.

Not that she was considering anything that drastic.

And then Kade had to call, the sound of his voice throwing her into some two-steps-into-the-past, one-determined-step-back-to-the-present dance. Reminding her of the times when she'd anticipated hearing his voice.

And then the verbal dance lumbered to a stop when he offered her a job.

“Are you still there?”

She faced away from the receptionist, marching back outside the salon into the smoldering afternoon humidity, shutting the door on the hum of conversations interwoven with the whir of blow dryers, the air laden with the scent of shampoos and styling chemicals.

“Yes. I'm at . . . an appointment.”

“I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“It's not like you know my schedule—” Caron caught fractured glimpses of herself in the glass storefronts. “Can you give me until tomorrow morning to think about this?”

“I suppose that's fair. But you need to know that, if you accept the job, I would need you here as soon as possible.”

“I will consider it—” Time for a quick about-face back toward the salon. “And I will call you back by nine o'clock in the morning, your time.”

“You can call me earlier. I'll be up.”

“I'll talk to you tomorrow, then.”

“Perfect.”

Kade's conversation replayed in her head moments later as Paula motioned her back into her private room in the salon.

Less than perfect circumstances.

There was nothing perfect about the possibility of working for Kade Webster. Even considering it made no sense at all. When Vanessa promised to pray for some imperfection in her life, Caron never imagined a job offer from Kade, temporary or otherwise, as God's answer to Vanessa's “Caron's life needs to be less than perfect” prayer.

“So, the usual shampoo, cut, and blow-dry?” Paula ran a wide-tooth comb through Caron's wet hair.

Caron clasped her hands beneath the long plastic cover draped over her shoulders. “No. I think it's time for a change.”

Why not be deliberate about her life changing? Have a say in the matter? Of course, she'd
been the one to quit working for her father, but only after he'd sprung Nancy Miller on her.

“Okay. What are we doing?”

“I'm thinking—” Caron threaded her fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair. There was nothing wrong with her natural color, except she'd gone back to it only to please her dad. “—blond.”

“Blond.” Paula's smile widened into an oh-yeah agreement. “How blond are you thinking?”

“I know the long process for getting to platinum. We've done that before. Let's just start with a fun, shimmery blond for now and go from there.”

“Are you thinking like Reese Witherspoon in
Legally Blonde
?”

“Maybe more like January Jones in
Mad Men
.”

“Sounds great. I always liked you as a blond.”

“I did, too. And who knows what the future holds, right?”

Maybe when Paula was done working her magic on her hair, Caron would recognize the woman in the mirror again. Reclaim a little bit of control in her life by having a say in her hair color. Someone else might laugh at her feeble follicle attempt at retaining power, but they hadn't been living her life for the past few years.

•  •  •

The deed was done.

The proof was there whenever Caron fingered the long layers Paula had added to her hair, or whenever she'd stopped at a red light and snagged another glimpse of the blond hair framing her face in the rearview mirror.

Was her decision an I'm-my-own-person action or a stubborn I-can-do-what-I-want stomping of her foot?

Whichever it was, she'd paid for it, adding a hefty tip.

While Paula had mixed the hair color, applied it to her hair, set the timer, and then taken a quick call from her daughter, Caron prayed. A silent, stuttering, start-and-stop kind of prayer with a lot of “Should I?” and “How would this work?” and “Am I crazy to even consider this?” kinds of questions thrown at God.

Her emotions mirrored the first time she tried to read a real estate contract. Confusing. Impossible to sort out. She wanted to forget Kade had even called her.

But she couldn't. She'd promised him an answer by tomorrow morning.

Once home, Caron went straight to her kitchen pantry and retrieved the tall glass apothecary jar from the top shelf. Half full of bright red Hot Tamales, it was just what she needed—her favorite candy, the perfect accompaniment to a phone conversation with Margo.

The minute Margo said hello, Caron started talking, digging a handful of Hot Tamales out of the jar and spilling them onto her kitchen counter.

“I need you to tell me what to do. Because I can't believe I'm even considering this. It's . . . it's impossible.” Caron lined the red candies up, side by side. “But then a part of me thinks, Why not? Why not get away from here for a little while? Get some space from my father? I mean it's only for, what, a month maybe?”

“I'd be happy to tell you what to do—if you want to give me a hint about what exactly you're considering. Are you thinking of doing the Pamplona Bull Run in Spain? Count me out. Are you considering going skydiving? I might join you. Want to run away to Tahiti? I'm all in. We could have some kind of besties getaway before I get married.”

Caron's laughter dissolved into a half sob. “Oh, Margo . . .
remember back in college at Alabama when we had all those adventures?”

“Roll Tide! We had a few, including that semester abroad in Paris. That was fun, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And then I came back and Ronny had missed me so much he didn't want to be ‘just friends' anymore—”

“Focus, Margo. This is not the time to remember your romance with Ronny.”

“Sorry. Tell me what's going on. Why are you laughing and crying?”

“My life's a mess. I thought I had it all figured out. Who I was. Where I was going. Even who I was getting married to. And now . . .” The threat of more tears caused Caron to stop talking.

“And now you don't know anymore?”

“No. I don't. I quit my job. And I told Alex about the destination wedding . . . and he hates the idea just as much as I love it.”

“But he didn't say an absolute no, did he?”

“We stopped talking about it, just like we always do when we teeter on the edge of a full-blown argument. It's ridiculous to want to argue with my boyfriend.”

“But don't your parents say Alex is the perfect—”

“Don't say it, Margo. Okay? Just listen for now.”

“Sorry. That was a bad joke. Listening.”

Caron abandoned the line of candies, opting to pour herself a glass of sweet tea and escape to her bedroom. “When I told Alex about what happened at work, he spent more time supporting my dad than listening to me.”

“I'm sorry. So what did you do?”

Caron sniffed and giggled. “I dyed my hair blond.”

“O-kay.”

“I know dyeing my hair red might have been more daring, but the point is, my hair looks like I want it to look—not how my dad expects me to wear it.” Caron set her glass on her bedside table and then climbed into her bed. “I like my hair blond.”

“I do, too. You make a great blond.”

“Thanks. I have the support of you and my hairstylist.” A sip of tea rinsed away some of the tightness in her throat. “And right before that, I got a job offer.”

“A job offer? Really?”

“It's a temporary one. And I just might do it. I think I might want to get away from here for a little bit before I do any serious job-hunting.”

“It's not in Florida, then?”

“No. It's in Colorado.”

“What?”

If Margo shrieked at the mention of the location, what would she do when Caron told her who her boss would be?

“Kade Webster called and asked me to come out and stage a home for him. It's a Tour of Homes project.”

“You did not just say that Kade Webster offered you a job.”

“Yes, I did. What do you think?”

“You . . . and Kade. Together again . . .”

“Not together again.
Working
together again. There's a big difference.”

“When are you coming out?”

“
If
I come out, Kade sounded like he needed me there yesterday. I told him I would call him tomorrow and tell him my decision. He said he'd pay per diem, pay for a car, put me up in a hotel—”

“Absolutely not! You're staying with me!”

Caron sat up, careful not to spill any liquid on herself or her bed. “Margo, you're talking like I've made the decision to do this.”

“You have. You asked me to tell you what to do. Tell Kade yes.”

“Why?”

“For all the reasons you said. Get away from the stress of your dad. Take a break before you jump into a new job. I know how hard you've been working the past few years. Do this short-term project for Kade.”

“But we dated—”

“That was two years ago. You both have moved on. He knows you're with Alex, right?”

“I don't know. I mean, he probably knows I'm dating someone.”

“Mention it and your relationship is an instant do-not-cross-this-line barrier. And you and I get some time together. It's perfect.”

“No, it's not perfect. But it seems like God is answering a prayer.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. It's a joke between me and Vanessa.” Caron tapped her fingers against the side of her glass. Margo made it all sound so simple. “Okay. I'll do it. Now all I have to do is tell Alex. And my parents.”

“But first tell Kade, because then no one can talk you out of it.”

“Right. I'll tell Kade first.”

“Call him tonight.”

“I'll call him tomorrow.”

“I can call him for you—”

Her friend's insistence pulled a laugh from her. “No, I will accept my own job offer. Thank you very much.”

Caron contemplated her half-empty glass of tea like a woman attempting to divine the future by reading tea leaves. But she had no ability to foretell her future. Once she called Kade, she set events in motion . . . but she had no control over them. She'd have to trust that if God was saying
yes
to Vanessa's prayer for less perfection in Caron's life, then he'd make it all turn out for the best. For her good. And for Kade's, too.

•  •  •

He'd offered Caron the job.

Now all he could do was wait for her to call him back tomorrow morning with her answer. Her
no
. Kade dropped onto his couch, grabbing the remote control and turning on the TV, surfing the channels. Cooking shows. Movies. Reality TV. Sports.

Nothing worth watching.

His cell phone buzzed where it lay on the couch beside him. A Florida area code . . . could it be—?

“Kade Webster here.”

“Kade. This is Caron.” Her tone was direct, businesslike.

“Morning came fast.”

Lame joke.

“I thought about your offer . . . made my decision . . . and decided there was no reason to wait until tomorrow to call you.”

“Fine.” He could manage direct and businesslike, too.

And if Caron was going to turn him down, he appreciated that she told him now. He could start scrolling through the Internet tonight, rather than waiting until tomorrow morning.