Page 122 of Famous for a Living

“Yes,” I reply automatically.

“She also asked me if I’ve ever considered creating an account. Apparently I have a very nice beard that deodorant companies would be all over. How beards can possibly be related to deodorant . . .”

I laugh. Put my hand on his scratchy beard. “It is quite nice.”

He takes a small step toward me, just as another breeze slips by.

Petals fall around us as his nose dips down, meeting mine. Touching, oh-so-briefly, before drawing forward, the prickle of his beard on my cheek. His lips on mine.

The air smells of blossoms and pine, the scent of my morning perfume mixed with a touch of airport coffee on his breath. A mix of us, mountains and city. Soft and hard.

I pull back, realizing something. “You know what? I don’t think you’ve ever called me pretty. Do you think I’m pretty, Zaiah Smith?”

“I think you’re a lot of things, Cat Cranwell, all of them beautiful.”

A warmth spreads from my chest. I’ve spent half my life with the number on the tag of my dress and the glow of my skin being the starting and stopping point of every conversation. Beauty equaling power. Power equaling money. Money equaling stability. And frankly, watching myself start the process of losing those first petals of my youth had been daunting. Terrifying.

Until I met Zaiah.

And Jax. And Mina. And Kevin. And Peggy.

And went to live in a place where people were just too busy living life with the ones they love to worry about such a small thing as skin.

“I appreciate the hard work you’ve put in to get my glow back.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “You know? I believe it’s already starting to work.”

“Anything for Serena,” he murmurs softly, grinning as he cups my chin and draws me back in.

Epilogue

The Business

Twenty Months Later

You know what turns out to be better than following the life of Cat Cranwell in the glittering city? Following the life of Cat Cranwell in the great wide world.

It was on the Swiss trip that this fact became apparent.

More specifically, it was while showing off the Matterhorn in the distance (which Zaiah begrudgingly admitted may be just a tiny bit more impressive than those in Kannery) and, yes, admittedly having written a caption about slowing life down and enjoying the beauty of nature that the idea formed.

Serena was skeptical at first, because of course to her, what could possibly be more appealing than a thousand glowing windows of a hundred towering buildings stretching toward the evening sky?

But as I began to share more and more of the natural world around me on our trip, and less and less of the perfectly polished life I’d pretended to have, we found it worked. A dash of my life in New York or some other city here or there, yes, but a solid amount spent in the tiny, but healthily growing, town of Kannery.

Yes, my demographics slowly shifted, shaken like dyed sand in an hourglass. The male demographic dropped off, and the female demographic of women in their thirties and beyond rose. And frankly, that was just fine by me.

Montana life resonated with my following.

People appreciated me showing off the dirty kitchen sink on occasion. Hauling feed out to what turned out to be rather unruly chickens.

Even as the world around me shifted, even as I shifted, people followed along.

I even started to let pictures go public without me blurring out every unhandsome line. Even let my eyes go public without a triple application of mascara.

I wasn’t seventeen anymore. I was aging, albeit gracefully, and I was learning to accept it. And for those people who couldn’t, who would leave if I couldn’t meet their impossible standards, then so be it.

“Your uncle couldn’t have worked at the Grand Canyon.” Serena drags her suitcase through the snow in her marshmallow puff jacket. And heels.

Zaiah moves to retrieve her bags.