Page 35 of Charmed, I’m Sure (Witches of Bellevue #1)

Holiday hangovers

Holiday hangovers were a thing, right? They had to be. Because there was no other reason for the fatigue dragging me down, making me want to crawl under my desk at CharCutie and take a nap. Groaning, I let my head fall onto my folded arms and blew out a heavy breath.

“What are you doing?” Jaelyn’s familiar voice drifted in, laced with a sigh. I didn’t even have to look up to know she was standing in the doorway.

“Solving world hunger, obviously,” I muttered, my voice muffled by my arms.

Silence. The kind that carried an exasperated glare you could feel.

“Wallowing, Jae,” I clarified, lifting my head just enough to meet her unimpressed gaze. “I’m wallowing.”

“Why?” she asked, drawing the word out as her boots clicked against the tile. She crossed the small office and dropped into the chair across from me.

Pushing back into a sitting position, I shrugged. “Not really sure, honestly. Woke up in a messy-depressy mood. Plus, the shop is basically dead today.”

Not to mention the fact I hadn’t heard from Taylor since the night before Thanksgiving—five days ago. It was official: I was a lovesick puppy pining over a stupid boy. Or maybe just a “like-sick” puppy, because I wasn’t going there.

“Uh-huh. Get up.” Jae stood abruptly, motioning for me to do the same.

“Why?” I hedged, raising a confused brow as she stared me down.

“Because you’ve been wallowing for days, your hair’s a mess, and we’ve got menus to plan and shopping to do for that party next week.

” When I didn’t budge, she huffed, rolled her eyes, and rounded the desk to tug me out of my chair.

“I made you an appointment at Belle Amour with Greyson to fix…” She waved vaguely at my head, her lips pulling into a disapproving scowl. “That.”

“What? What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Mags, sweetheart, I say this with all the love in my heart.” Her hands landed on my shoulders, caramel eyes soft but edged with a tough-love gleam.

“Your roots are almost two inches long, you’re leaning more toward muddy water than vibrant cotton candy swirls, and your ends are so split I could see them from across the room. ”

“Ouch, Jae. Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”

Her brow quirked, and I quickly amended, “On second thought, maybe don’t.”

“Your appointment’s in forty-five minutes. Throw on some mascara, swipe on a little gloss—something to make you look less like you rolled out of bed at one o’clock on a Monday afternoon—grab a coffee from The Magic Bean, and get your ass over to Greyson’s.”

“Jae, I don’t have time to—”

“You’re going, Magnolia Lynn.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You haven’t made time for yourself in far too long, and if I have to walk you there myself and wait outside the door, I will.”

She wasn’t bluffing, and we both knew it. But it also meant closing the shop early—not that it mattered. Business had been oddly slow today. Our usual Monday rush had turned into a trickle, which was concerning. I had a sinking feeling Sophie had something to do with it.

With a heavy sigh, I looked to the ceiling and groaned, “Fine.”

“Atta girl.” Jae patted my shoulder and pulled me into a quick hug before exiting the office.

I stood there for a moment, the silence deafening when there were usually voices filling my little shop.

Blowing out an aggrieved breath, I made my way toward the mirror on the wall and winced.

Jaelyn hadn’t been wrong. Actually, she’d been nice about it.

I looked like a Mother damned bridge troll—a trash panda.

Even Mother Gothel at the end of Tangled had me beat.

Spindly strands of hair stuck out like hay from my bun, there were dark circles under my eyes that I was pretty sure concealer would laugh at, and—great—a zit the size of Mount Vesuvius had taken up residence on my chin.

Groaning again, I pulled the elastic free, letting a tangled mess of faded, orange-tinged pink and Old Gregg blue tumble over my shoulders.

I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to renew the enchantments on my hair.

Every four weeks, like clockwork, I respelled it to refresh the color, seal the ends, and bring back its bounce and wave that I could only achieve with magic—hot tools were not my friend. Now it was just… sad.

Jae was right. I needed to make time for myself again.

With a nod of determination, I bundled my hair back into a bun, swiped on some concealer and mascara, glamored the zit out of sight, and headed for the door.

The last time I’d set foot in a salon was years ago, back when I lived in Baton Rouge, and the memory still haunted me.

That so-called “salon”—if you could even call it that—was a disaster of chipped paint and broken appliances, reeking of overly perfumed shampoo, hair dye, and enough hairspray to choke a horse.

The woman working on me had stunk of cigarettes and seemed to be taking all of her frustrations out on my poor scalp.

After that ordeal, I’d sworn off salons, opting for home trims and magical enchantments instead.

But Jae had booked this appointment for me, so I yanked on my big-girl panties and braced myself for disappointment.

If you set your expectations low enough, they can only go up. Right?

Clutching a giant peppermint mocha for courage, I pulled open the glass-and-gold door to Belle Amour, and—holy shit.

My jaw dropped as I stepped into the most adorable space I’d ever seen.

Plush blush couches framed a cream-and-pink rug in the lobby, a whimsical chandelier of twigs and flowers glowing softly above.

Floating shelves made of raw-edge cypress lined one wall, neatly stocked with endless rows of beauty products.

White sheers framed the windows, letting in natural light that bathed the space in a warm, welcoming glow.

I silently vowed to buy Jaelyn something for insisting I come here. Maybe a new purse. Or shoes. Or—

“May I help you?” A cheerful voice pulled me from my thoughts. The receptionist stood behind a stunning cypress desk with a raw, wavy edge. A pink neon sign reading Belle Amour glowed across its base.

“Oh, hi!” I moved away from the door, offering a sheepish smile. “I have an appointment with Greyson. I think I’m a little early.”

“No problem!” She smiled warmly, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “What’s your name?”

“Magnolia.”

“Got it! You’re all checked in. Have a seat wherever you like, and Grey will be with you shortly. Would you like anything to drink? Water? Tea? Wine?”

Wine? While getting my hair done? What alternate universe had I stumbled into? I raised my coffee with a polite smile. “I’m all set, thanks.”

“Alright! If you change your mind, just holler. I’m Liv.”

“Thanks.” I turned toward the couches, expecting to settle in for a wait. But before I could even sit down, someone called my name.

“Magnolia?”

Startled, I spun around, sloshing coffee onto my hand. “Shit—sorry! Yes, that’s me.”

The man approaching me laughed, shaking his head. He gestured silently toward Liv, who handed him a cloth for my mess. “No biggie. Jae warned me you might be a bit of a mess, but don’t you worry, honey—I’ll get you right as rain and ready to take on the world in no time.”

Flustered, I cleaned up my spill and followed him to his station. Greyson was, hands down, the prettiest man I’d ever seen.

The back of the salon was just as charming as the front.

Cream walls and polished concrete floors created a clean, cohesive look.

Blush chairs sat at every station in front of gold-framed mirrors with uplifting sayings across the tops—Greyson’s said ‘do it for yourself, no one else’.

There were twinkle lights intertwined with floral branches draped across the ceiling, giving the space an ethereal, fairy-like quality. I already loved it here.

“So, what are we doing today?” Greyson asked, freeing my hair from its elastic. His smile faltered slightly as he assessed the chaos that was my hair.

“Color and a trim, I guess.” I chuckled nervously. “I’m usually better about upkeep, but life’s been a little... hectic.”

He nodded, grabbing a brush to gently work through the tangles. “What’s your usual routine? Your hair history—or hair-story, if you will.”

Panic fluttered in my chest. How was I supposed to answer that? It’s not like I could say, ‘Oh, ya know. Same as anyone else, really. Magical enchantments.’

“Oh, um, the usual,” I hedged. “I shampoo twice, condition from the mids to the ends, and do a mask once or twice a month.”

“Good, good. And the color? How do you maintain it? Do you use heat tools?”

I laughed outright, shaking my head. “Greyson, I know my hair color would say otherwise, but I’m pretty low-maintenance. I rarely use hot tools, and I usually handle color touch-ups in my kitchen sink.”

He grinned, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Well, prepare for the most high-maintenance day of your life, my darlin’. That bossy friend of yours left strict instructions to pamper you, and pamper you I shall. You ready?”

I swallowed thickly, nodding as our eyes met in the mirror. His face lit up with excitement, his full lips curling into a smile that showcased perfect, pearly teeth. “Let’s do this.”

“Girl, if you don’t close your eyes, it’s creepy,” Greyson admonished, massaging shampoo into my scalp.

“What? Oh!” I snapped my eyes shut, and he chuckled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It just looks weird from this angle, and you’re supposed to be relaxing. So keep those peepers closed and just breathe.”

Taking a deep breath, I focused on the sensation of his strong fingers kneading my scalp and the back of my neck. The warm water cascaded down, washing away the stress that had been building. It felt amazing. I was half tempted to come here once a week just so Greyson could wash my hair.

But just as I was reaching a state of zen, sharp, needling voices pierced the air and shattered my peace.

“You can’t believe everything that Sophie girl says,” voice number one snapped.“I know, Geraldine, but she had a picture this time,” voice number two responded.

Well, at least I knew who one of them was now. I groaned internally. So much for a peaceful day at the salon.

And it had been going so well.

“Oh, snap,” Grey whispered, excitement lacing his tone. “One of the best perks of this job is the old biddy gossip. I wonder who they’re talking about.”

“I’m sure it’s no one special.” I took another deep breath, trying to find my zen again—but it was nowhere to be found.

“I just don’t see what that sweet boy sees in her. It’s Magnolia Bellevue, for goodness’ sake. And that hair!”

“Oh, I know! And they say that whole family of hers are witches. Witches, Dorothy! He could do so much better.”

My eyes flew open at my name, and I was met with Greyson’s wide hazel gaze.

“It’s fine, Grey. I’m used to it,” I whispered, trying to muster a convincing smile.

The truth was, I was used to it—used to people talking about me behind my back, judging me for my looks or how I lived my life. But hearing that people in town didn’t think I was good enough for Taylor stung more than it should.

Greyson’s lips pressed into a thin line, fire flickering in those golden-green irises. “I’m going to say something.”

“No,” I whisper-shouted, reigning in the anxiety churning in my gut. “Please don’t. I’ll handle it. I always have.”

I forced another smile to my face—though I was sure it looked as deflated as I felt. Thankfully, Greyson just huffed out a breath and went back to rinsing the conditioner from my hair.

When he finished, he wrapped a towel around my head, and we returned to his station—my appearance shocking the hell out of Geraldine and Dorothy. Their cheeks flushed crimson, and their eyes bugged out as they sat under the dryers clutching their gossip rags. Figures.

“Ladies,” Grey said curtly, shooting them a scathing look that had me biting my lips to suppress a laugh.

The rest of my appointment was depressingly awkward.

The playful banter between Greyson and me was gone, replaced by pitying glances in my direction and disdainful glares in the mirror aimed at the two women behind him.

At least my hair looked incredible. Greyson had worked his magic, and I was sorely tempted to nix the enchantments altogether just so he could do my hair more often.

“What do you think?” he asked, his hazel eyes glowing as he fluffed the big, bouncy curls cascading over my shoulder.

“You are a miracle worker, Grey. Thank you.” My sinuses burned as I met his gaze in the mirror. “For everything.”

“You are a queen, Magnolia Bellevue. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”

“Do it for yourself…”

“And no one else,” he finished, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pressing his cheek to mine.

He’d just removed the cape from my shoulders when Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton drifted out of my purse.

“Thanks again, Grey,” I said, scrambling out of the chair to grab my phone. Aunt Evie’s photo lit up the screen.

Sliding the green dot to the right, I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey, Aunt Evie.”

“Hey, Magpie.” Exhaustion thickened her voice as she blew out a heavy breath. “You gonna be home soon?”

“Yeah, I just finished up at the salon. I need to run by the shop—”

“I already called the shop. Jae’s going to close up for you.” Another sigh crackled across the line, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“What’s going on?”

“Some hooligans egged the house.”