Page 99 of Broken Vows

Fifi is probably waiting for me. There are dishes in the sink, laundry on my makeshift line, and at least three responsible things I could do with my afternoon.

Instead, I sit in my car and stare at my phone.

No message from Levi.

Which is fine.

Obviously.

We're adults. He doesn’t need to message me the morning after we sleep together. I don't need reassurance like some nervous teenager waiting to find out if a boy still likes her.

I'm a grown woman. A sensible woman. A woman who is absolutely capable of putting her phone away, starting the car, and behaving normally.

I do none of those things.

I open my messages and text Diane.

Carmen: Are you busy this afternoon?

She replies almost immediately.

Diane: Hair appointment at three. Come keep me company. I have gossip.

I look at the message for half a second, then start the car.

That sounds much better than going home and pretending not to think about Levi.

The salon is tucked into a quiet side street a few blocks from the waterfront, nestled between a bookstore and a florist with buckets of pale roses out front.

Diane is already there when I arrive, cape draped around her shoulders, color painted neatly along her roots. She catches my eye in the mirror. “There you are.”

I lower myself into the chair beside her.

A young stylist appears behind me with a bright smile. “Janice?”

I start to stand. “No, sorry. I’m just here with Diane.”

She glances toward the front desk, then back at me, a little sheepish. “I think I’ve been stood up.” Her gaze drifts to my hairline. “You don’t want your roots done, do you?”

My hand automatically lifts to my hair. The regrowth is longer than I’d like—over an inch of gray threading through my natural blonde.

The stylist’s eyes widen. “Oh God, sorry. That came out terribly. I didn’t mean⁠—”

“You’re fine,” I say with a reassuring smile. “Honestly, I’ve been meaning to do something about it.”

Diane grins at me in the mirror. “Well, would you look at that. Fate.”

The stylist introduces herself as Maya. She studies my hair, lifting a few strands with gentle fingers. “We can touch up the roots and add some fine foils around your face. Nothing dramatic—just soften and brighten.”

“That sounds perfect.”

As Maya works, the rhythmic foiling is soothing. Almost enough to keep my mind from drifting straight back to Levi.

Almost.

I keep replaying last night. Then this morning. My silent phone. The small, stubborn hope I can’t quite swallow down.

When Maya steps away to let the bleach process, Diane studies me in the mirror. “So. Are we going to talk about why you keep checking your phone every twelve seconds?”