Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
It wasn’t exactly part of my day job in the hair and beauty world—but maybe it could be classed as an extension of it. It was a little offshoot that’d started from a video I filmed for Delicious Divas. In it, I’d had a homemade hair mask slathered on while I painted my nails and explained why I used each ingredient. It was casual, unscripted, and just me being me.
I didn’t expect it to go viral.
What caught everyone’s attention, weirdly enough, wasn’t the hair mask. It was the nail design. I’d been messing around with some detailed line art, a little celestial theme with stars and moons—and that small design had blown up in the comments.
Soon after, a nail company reached out. They specialized in false nails—something I didn’t even wear, to be honest—but what made them different was the quality. Their reviews were excellent, even for the glue they used. I might’ve been skeptical, but their pitch was solid, and the opportunity was too good to ignore. So, I’d started designing sets for them—edgy nails, some soft and elegant, and others just plain fun. Bright colors. Textures. Themes. I loved the creative freedom.
But the actual passion project came from another unexpected message—a pet shampoo brand.
The hair mask ingredients I’d been using were pet-safe, and they were intrigued by the idea of developing a line of grooming products using similar formulas. Now, I was helping them create a full range—shampoos, leave-in conditioners, moisturizers, and balms for dogs and cats. Everything gentle, low-scented, and safe for their skin and fur. Something that could soothe dry patches, make coats shinier, and help pets that struggle with allergies or sensitive skin.
And when we finally launched the line, Lynyrd, Skynyrd, and Dog were getting the full VIP treatment.
For now, they just sat beside me in their usual spots, big eyes watching me work like I was crafting something life-altering. Maybe I was. Perhaps it wouldn’t change the world, but it could make a difference. And right now, that felt like enough.
I spared a glance toward the hallway where Roque had disappeared. Whatever was going on with him could wait a little longer. We’d talk when he was ready.
Until then, I had work to do—and a trio of fluffy assistants making sure I didn’t forget who this next venture was really for.
“You know,” Roque said casually from the doorway, making me squeal and nearly leap out of my skin, “when we were fifteen, Kemble and I stole his brother’s car and tried to drive to Florida.”
I twisted around to stare at him. “You what?”
The tension from his earlier phone call still clung to his shoulders, but the corners of his mouth twitched as if he couldn't help but grin at the memory. “Yup. Middle of winter—not as brutal as this,” he added with a nod toward the frosted window, “but we were sick of being cold and figured the beach sounded like a solid plan.”
I blinked at him, stunned. A teenage runaway adventure, and now he was a cop. The irony hit me like a slapstick punchline.
Reading my expression, he chuckled. “Yeah, I know. The irony, right? Anyway, we made it about an hour down the road. Neither of us had the faintest idea what we were doing, and then we got a flat tire somewhere outside of town.”
“Let me guess,” I said slowly, “you changed it yourselves?”
Roque laughed outright. “Not even, a police officer stopped to help us. Thought we were just some clueless kids—which, I mean, we were—but he changed the tire and sent us on our merry little way. Ten minutes later, the engine started smoking like a chimney.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t die.”
“Pfft,” he snorted, stretching his legs out in front of him like he was getting comfy. “We weren’t that reckless.” The wince that followed suggested otherwise.
“So, what did you do? How’d you get home?”
He shook his head, a bit sheepish now. “Kemble’s brother kept spare change in the ashtray, so we walked about a mile until we found a payphone. Both of us were shitting ourselves about who was going to make the call, so we settled it with a game of rock, paper, scissors to see whose parents we’d call. I lost.”
I stifled a laugh. Roque’s parents were sweet, especially his mom—I knew them through Evie—but I could only imagine their reaction to their son joyriding across state lines.
“How bad was the fallout?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek.
He gave me a pained look. “On a scale of one to ten? Solid eleven. My life was basically locked down for two months. No phone, no TV, grounded into the next century.”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “That’s amazing. Okay, okay, now I have to tell you mine.”
Roque raised a brow, intrigued.
“I was six,” I began, “and I gave my cousin Heidi a haircut. A very creative one. I also decided her hair needed some flair, so I colored it like a zebra—with pink and black permanent markers.”