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“Don’t go ghosting on me.”

Her words hang between us, heavy and charged with something like hope. It’s my turn to find the right thing to say, but my tongue is tangled up with the pounding in my chest and the realization that maybe, just maybe, I want more than I’m willing to admit—even to myself.

Chapter Ten

Joely

There’s a strange kind of electricity in the air when word gets out that someone’s getting glammed up in this town. Maybe it’s the snow outside daring us to stir up trouble, or maybe it’s the way hope leaks through the cracks of these old buildings every time a local girl dares to shine. Glamboozled’s windows glow like a beacon, promising reinvention and just the right amount of gossip. Around here, a fresh blowout and a borrowed dress can turn more heads than a winning goal—and believe me, nothing travels faster through my streets than news of a makeover, except maybe the jokes when someone tries to walk icy sidewalks in heels.

Playlist: Confident by Demi Lovato

The heater in Lynsie’s car battles the biting cold that’s settled over Sorrowville, but the real frost is in the look she shoots me as I buckle up. In the back is what I call my “grief garb”—a sleeksheath dress that seems reserved for funerals or meeting my boyfriend’s parents, situations where you need to look serious but not memorable. Truth be told, I don’t need fancy dresses, so buying one would be frivolous.

“You can’t seriously be considering wearing that to the party,” she declares, nodding at the black dress I’ve tossed in the backseat, still on its hanger. “He’s seen you in it ten times.”

“It’s black. It’s classic,” I defend, hugging my coat closer.

Lynsie snorts, merging into traffic with a swift glance over her shoulder. “It practically smells like formaldehyde, Jo. You’re not wearing it. This is your big chance. You’re going to the Sammer holiday party with Brogan. He’s sitting next to you by choice.”

“Because he thinks of me as a sister,” I mutter, watching snowflakes hurl themselves at the windshield, dying on impact.

“He doesn’t think of you like a sister. And if he did, he won’t after tonight,” she counters with a smirk, reaching into the back to pull out a garment bag that looks far too fancy for either of our closets. “Especially not when he sees you in this.”

Peeking inside the bag, my breath catches—a cocktail dress, stunning and so far out of my league it’s practically got its own area code, the kind of thing only Gisele would wear. She’s Sorrowville’s one-woman glam squad, owner of the only salon in town and living proof that you can rock a designer dress while giving someone a perm. No way does a bartender like me deserve to borrow something this fancy, especially when my superpower is spilling drinks.

Lynsie catches my doubtful look, her grin widening. “Trust me, he won’t be able to peel his eyes off you. And who knows, maybe by the end of the night, he’ll forget all about seeing you as just a sister.”

My heart skips a beat, excitement and terror playing tug-of-war in my chest. “God, what if this just makes everything… weird? Should I—I don’t know—do I need to wax? Or shave? Dopeople even do that anymore? Jesus, do I need to buy condoms? I haven’t even thought about that in, like, years. It’s been so long, I think my vagina has a security system now.”

Lynsie cracks up, tossing her head back. “Girl, you’re talking to the president of the Hairy Bush Club. Don’t ask me, I haven’t seen a wax strip since Shep thought mullets were hot. I swear if I asked Gisele to handle it now, she’d need a weed whacker. If tonight turns into a naked emergency, just dim the lights and pray for the best.”

I snort, and just like that, the nerves ease off my chest a little. “Deal. If you tell me you’re growing it out for winter insulation, I’m sending you a trophy.”

“Go ahead,” she fires back, “but make it a gold-plated razor I can use as a doorstop. We’re pioneers, Jo. Trailblazers.”

“Pioneers usually die of dysentery,” I mutter, but my voice shakes just enough to give me away. I grip the steering wheel tighter. “God, Lyns, what if I mess it up? What if he doesn’t even see me that way?”

She turns down the heater as we pull into the parking lot of Glamboozled. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not looking—like you’re the first and last scoop of ice cream on the hottest day of summer. It’s your chance. Make the most of it, or you’ll always have regrets.”

As we step out into the cold, the icy air bites at my cheeks, a stark reminder of the risk I’m about to take. But with Lynsie by my side, armed with her unshakeable confidence and that killer dress, I feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this makeover could change everything.

The bell above the door jingles merrily as we burst in from the cold, shaking snow from our boots. The salon is a haven of warmth, and the air is thick with the scents of hair products and nail polish—a sensory overload that instantly sets my nervestingling. The place is buzzing, packed with Sorrowville’s finest seeking refuge and a touch-up.

Old Mrs. Becker is getting her weekly blue rinse in the corner, two high school girls are giggling over prom swatches, and even Virgil’s poking his head in with donuts for the staff, claiming his beard needs a trim.

Gisele, glamorous as ever in a sleek jumpsuit that no one else in town could pull off, greets us with a wide smile and sparkling eyes that could light up the darkest winter day. “Joely, babe, you’re just in time,” she sings out, her arms open wide as if welcoming royalty.

Then she drapes a cape over me with a flourish. “You’re in good hands. Trust me, you’ll look fabulous.” She gently guides me from the chair to the shampoo bowl at the back, her hand steady on my shoulder. The salon’s hum gets louder—Marla and Theo, the resident comedy duo, are mid-riff on the latest town gossip, their banter ricocheting off the tile.

I tip my head back, closing my eyes as warm water and Gisele’s fingers melt some of my nerves away. She works in a fragrant shampoo, massaging my scalp like she’s got all the time in the world. For a second, I almost forget why I’m here.

Once she rinses and towels me off, she helps me back to the chair, wrapping me up again as she starts the blowout. Marla and Theo are still working their magic, curling and clipping and teasing their clients into higher hair and better moods. The place buzzes with laughter and the scent of hairspray.

Gisele catches my eye in the mirror, her smile gentle but knowing. “Ready to look like the main character?”

As the blowout wraps up and my hair falls in shiny waves, Lynsie leans in, flipping through a stack of magazines. “You know, making a big change can sometimes be the best way to catch someone’s eye. Not that you need any help in that department.”

“Is it that obvious?” I reply, trying for a laugh but it comes out more like a hiccup.