Page 81 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

Why go to all this trouble ... for only a friend?

However, I must admit to myself that this might be the case because of the man Tyler is.

But I feel his love. He touches me every single day.

Though, I’m finding myself more and more disappointed by only the whisper of a finger against my cheek or his reassuring palm on my back.

Of the hand holding, but no more. His distance even more apparent since Tobias spoke about us weeks ago, which may be why his touches are becoming briefer.

“After I finish the grass”—Tyler interrupts my thoughts, picking his glass up from the counter—“I’m going to stop by the Apple Festival for a few minutes before I meet the movers with Dom and Sean at the townhouse to clear it out.

” He shakes his head, his voice full of ache. “They’re leaving today.”

I nod. “I know. I said my goodbyes yesterday. I’m sorry, Soldier. Dom is not doing well,” I report.

“Yeah, I know,” he agrees as we share a lingering look, neither of us happy with Ezekiel’s decision.

“I need to go.” I shoulder my purse. “I will see you later.”

“See you, roomie,” he calls at my back as if in taunt as I head for the door. “Make sure to grab some socks while you’re out,” he chuckles as I shut the door hard to cut his laugh.

Because for me, it’s not funny. Not even a little.

Just like our first conversation about girls wasn’t amusing, but he seemed to draw pleasure out of it.

Some smug satisfaction as if he knows my true feelings, which he’s refused me to voice.

It’s then I know he must have sensed, seen my desire for him by now, and can’t help but wonder if it’s punishment.

I feel punished now, thoroughly. I should be satisfied.

More than satisfied with the lengths he’s taken for me to live this dream.

He’s done so much for me. To demand those looks back isn’t possible.

To ask for his heart back might be impossible and selfish.

Walking to my sedan, I drop my purse in my seat through my open car window.

Glancing back at the house, I meet Tyler’s eyes just as he pulls a ball cap down, which only sharpens his sleek features and the cut of his jaw.

Fuck. Merde. Fuck. God help me.

“Buckle up, see you in a bit.” He winks, and I damn near fan my face at the sight of him as he saunters toward his tractor.

Some woman is going to come along soon and try to claim the man I’m going blind with the need to touch, to have, to love, and the thought of it fills me with dread.

As I watch him mount the tractor, my resolve fills me to try and somehow gain a fraction of that heated look he once had for me back.

To get something from him telling me I’m not completely alone in this longing or if I need to let go of the rest of my dream altogether—that reality devastating.

Straightening my shoulders and determined to do everything I can to have him see me again, I get into my sedan and turn my ignition over.

As he takes off on his tractor, I decide this battle is the most important I have to fight because the future I truly want very much includes having all of my soldier.

With a fucking sock forever on our bedroom door.

* * *

A loud bell jingles as I walk through the door and freeze, all eyes drifting from the women in the shop, who begin scanning me curiously.

What was I thinking?

The need to flee takes over as I hesitate at the door.

“Delphine!” Layla exclaims, poking her head through a doorway in the back of the shop.

Merde.

Even as I entertain leaving, Layla takes long strides toward me—such a beautiful girl.

Tall and tan from the summer sun, she’s wearing a halter dress that hugs her curves, accentuated by the sash fastened around her Beauty Mark smock.

Her long, light blonde hair cascading in beautiful waves down her shoulders.

I take all of this in as she approaches.

“Ignore them,” she whispers, gently taking my elbow to usher me toward her station. “I have to admit,” she says, snapping out a plastic cape before fastening it around my neck, “I was surprised when I saw your name in the appointment calendar but in a good way.”

Her eyes command mine in the mirror as I speak, trying to fight my anxiety. “I was told this is your second shop. You must be very proud.”

“Hell yeah, I am. We opened this Main Street location a few weeks ago, and as you can see, business is booming.” I glance through the streetside glass at the foot traffic on Main Street because of the Apple Festival happening just outside of it as she speaks up.

“Don’t let the traffic out there or in here scare you—or their bug eyes,” she lifts her voice to the women surrounding us.

“They’ll be clucking like hens about some bullshit in no time. ”

Nodding, I dart my eyes to my reflection. Noting the gray hairs as well as my complexion as Layla perches in front of the small counter at her station and crosses her arms.

“So, what are we doing today?”

“Everything,” I relay as she quirks a brow. “I want to get the gray out.”

“Okay, so definitely a color. How about a cut to make it a little healthier.”

I mull over my request as humiliation threatens. “Fuck it,” I finally spout with a shrug. “Can you help my face to not look so old ?”

“Not a mincer of words. I love it,” she laughs before leaning in. “Honey, I’ve got a girl on speed dial with tiny magic needles full of youth that can not only get the wrinkles out but plump your face up a bit to take years away, and it’s practically painless. ”

“Good.” I nod. “I want everything we can do but ... still look like me .”

“I’ve got you.” She winks as she starts to stroke my hair. “No duck lips.”

“Non.” I shake my head adamantly. “Non. No lips like a duck.”

“You know, I do it.” She points to her face as I scrutinize her. “I keep it natural.”

“Oh, then, oui.” I nod enthusiastically. “Like you do. Please.”

“I’ll call her right now. She’s only a few doors down. I’m just going to run to the back and whip us up some color.”

I grip her arm lightly as she starts to walk away, and she glances down at me in concern as the words die on my tongue.

She seems to sense them, her expression softening.

“You want to feel and look beautiful, right? Well, look around,” she urges, and I do, very briefly.

“Every woman in this salon wants the very same thing, I promise you. This is what I do, and I’m living for this with you , so will you try your best to trust me? ”

I blow out a breath as the stupid fucking tears threaten, and I nod. “Oui. Yes. Please, anything you can do to help.”

“Oh, honey. This salon is full service, so I can do a lot.” She gives me an assuring wink. “I’ll be right back.”

A few hours later, I’ve been moisturized, scrubbed, and then moisturized again with a steamer to my face that looked like a vacuum.

After I was waxed—around my lip and chin, brows, and what Layla called my ‘lady bits,’ I was poked several times with the magic needles.

Needles that were not exactly painless but far less painful than the devil wax.

A wax job that Layla swore to me could guide in a seven-forty-seven plane.

We both laughed like hyenas in the back room of the salon as she explained the metaphor about my new landing strip.

Though I feel like I’ve been through several battles, Layla’s gentle massage of my scalp and second moisture gloss treatment is the best consolation I could hope for.

“I know you’re a private woman, Delphine,” she whispers, as the woman in surrounding chairs do cluck very much like hens around us. “But can I ask what made you come in today?”

I mull over the reasons and give her part of the truth. “A few reasons. The first is I have not taken care of myself in a very long time,” I tell her. “I—” I falter in my delivery, and her whispers soothe me.

“A man in your past did you dirty?” she asks.

“Oui. My ex-husband, Alain. He was a very manipulative, abusive narcissist .” I use Regina’s words. “He almost killed me.”

“Jesus,” she whispers, her touch at my scalp becoming more gentle. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“After, I didn’t want to be beautiful. I didn’t dress to get attention.

I did everything I could to keep men away.

But now.” I think of Tyler, of the way he once looked at me, and my eyes water with the want to get that look back.

“I-I want to.” I swallow as emotion threatens.

“I’m sorry. I have been very emotional since I started therapy and stop drinking. ”

“It’s okay, honey, you don’t have to talk about it,” she consoles me.

“Non, I’ve been quiet for so many years, Layla— too many years. I’m doing so many things that make me uncomfortable now,” I explain. “Therapy is very, very uncomfortable for me, but it has helped me to talk more. I want to tell you, I just need time to do it without so much emotion.”

“Well, how about I make it a little easier for you?” she offers, and I nod.

“So, before Denny, I dated this asshole I thought was the one. He was gorgeous and brilliant, and I really loved him. He had it rough when he was young, like most of us. He really wanted to be a better man, but he lost the battle with his demons and started treating me like shit. He got into drugs, I caught him cheating, it was a total shit show, and I put up with it for far too long .” She runs the water close to my scalp as my shoulders relax, her touch tender.

“He left scars both visible and invisible,” she continues, pausing her fingers as if lost in her memories.

“But then Denny came along and kind of loved me back to health. He swears I did the same for him. We’re a little co-dependent. You know what that means?”

I nod.

“Well.” Her magical fingers continue to massage my scalp. “They say it’s not healthy in a relationship, but—”

“You look very, very healthy, Layla.”