The Prince Charming List (6 page)

I hadn’t thought about it that way before. Didn’t everyone pay attention to the shape of someone’s face, the color of their eyes and whether or not their hairstyle flattered their features?

“You can’t compare the two,” I murmured, remembering the few pieces of Marissa’s work I’d seen. She’d given Alex and Bernice a beautiful set of handmade dessert plates as a wedding gift. Each one had a delicate dandelion puff blowing across the center. I remembered wishing at the time that God had gifted me with an ability to create something like that.

“I’m not so sure. I walked in the door and right away you saw I had twice the amount of hair as a normal person. I’ve been looking at my face in a mirror for the past thirty-two years and missed it.” Marissa crossed her arms under the cape and gave me a knowing smile.

That was because she was busy creating something beautiful
outside
herself. I didn’t argue, though, because the customer is always right. My summer working at the Fun Fruit Factory had taught me that.

I picked up the scissors and clicked them above her head.

“Ready?”

Marissa closed her eyes. “Surprise me.”

Half an hour later, I turned the chair around to face the mirror. “All done.”

Marissa stared at her reflection. Instant panic washed over me when I saw her expression. I’d talked her into this and she hated it.

“What did you
do?
” Her eyes were wide with shock as they met mine in the mirror.

“I just…cut it.” How was I supposed to explain this to Bernice? I definitely wasn’t ready to go out on my own yet! “Your hair is naturally curly, but the length and the weight of it pulled most of the curl out. When you take that away, the curls find their original shape.”

I’d also used enough anti-frizz gel to straighten the hair of an eighties’ girl band, but no need to mention that. The overall effect was that Marissa’s hair didn’t dominate her face anymore. And I’d guessed that her curls, given the proper attention, were the beautiful corkscrew kind. And I was right. Normally I would have taken satisfaction in the final results, but not at the moment. Right now my stomach was tying itself into knots because I’d ruined one of Bernice’s friends.

“I can see my face.” Marissa touched her cheeks lightly with her fingertips.

“That was the plan,” I said cautiously. “Look how big your eyes look now that you aren’t hiding behind all that hair.”

Marissa’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She tried again. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

At least she didn’t pretend she loved it, like the first woman I’d practiced on at cosmetology school. She’d smiled and thanked me and then I’d heard her in the hall, frantically calling her usual stylist for an emergency appointment. The only reason I’d scraped up the courage to go back the next day was because my parents had already paid the tuition. Things had gotten better after that. Until now!

“No charge.” Taking money would only add to my guilt.

“Why not?”

“You don’t like it.”

“I just said it would take some getting used to,” Marissa corrected. She fingered the much shorter ends of her hair. “You did a great job, Heather, I’m just not sure I was ready to come out of hiding yet.”

What did
that
mean? I saw her glance at her reflection again, but this time she smiled slightly. “Help me out here. I don’t venture out into the real world very often. I’m supposed to give you a tip, right?”

“Make it a practical one instead. Please.”

“That’s easy. Don’t let anyone talk you into joining a committee.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a temperamental art student named Jared Ward in my studio at this very moment who’s insisting that Denise—one of the PAC committee members—promised him housing for the summer. That’s why I stopped in, to see if you had a number I could call to get in touch with Bernice.”

I had a swift flashback featuring the motorcycle maniac I’d met the night before. The one looking for Junebug. As soon as Bree had given him directions to Lester Lee’s farm, he’d given her a polite salute and hopped back on his bike. It hadn’t occurred to us that he was the one who’d been commissioned to create a statue for the park. A statue of Lester Lee’s Holstein, Junebug.

I’d heard all about her from Bernice and over Easter break I’d seen the billboard with Junebug and Elise Penny’s picture on it. A month ago, some mysterious benefactor had paid to recover it with a cute advertisement for the local 4-H. I can’t prove anything but I think Alex was the culprit.

“I have no idea where to put him,” Marissa said with a shake of her head. Which sent her curls into motion. She touched them and smiled again. “He showed up about an hour ago. Apparently Denise told him there was a vacant apartment on Main Street this summer that he could rent. Now Denise is gone to a weeklong crafting retreat and I have no idea whose apartment she was talking about.”

As if on cue, something crashed above our heads and plaster dust sprinkled down from the ceiling like bits of confetti. I winced, half-expecting my bathtub to crash through the ceiling and take up residence next to the shampoo sink.

“Is someone in Bernice’s apartment?” Marissa asked.

“It’s my apartment now,” I told her. “But I’m pretty sure Jared Ward thinks it’s his.”

“Y
ou’re living in Bernice’s apartment now?” Marissa ignored the sound of the vacuum cleaner that roared to life over our heads while I sent up a silent plea that Snap wasn’t somehow involved in Dex’s latest disaster. No wonder the poor thing hid under the couch when Dex showed up.

“She and Alex offered me the house, but I thought it would be better if I was closer to the salon.” When I was nervous, my words tended to pick up speed and now they were practically rolling over the top of each other. “And it’s so
cute,
don’t you think? You’d pay a lot of money for an apartment like that in the Cities.”

“Uh-huh.” Marissa looked at me so thoughtfully I wondered if she’d somehow read my journal and discovered Reason Number Three. “That’s the downside to being out of the small-town loop, I suppose. If Denise assumed Bernice’s apartment would be empty, I can see her offering it to Jared. She already offered him the use of my studio.”

I was dying of curiosity here. “Jared is…he’s a student?”
Ponytail? Leather jacket? Motorcycle?

Marissa must not have heard the question. “I’ve lived in Prichett for years and successfully avoided holiday open houses, sidewalk sales and the Prichett Advancement Council. I offer to help the committee with
one tiny detail
—choosing someone qualified to re-create Junebug the Cow in bronze—and what do I get? A homeless art student who was wolfing down the last of my granola when I left.”

But does he drive a motorcycle?
That’s what I wanted to know.

“I have Jim Briggs to thank for this,” Marissa grumbled as she gave her curls one last shake and headed for the door. When she pulled it open, she paused and looked up.

“What happened to the bells?”

I sensed that Marissa was the kind of person who valued honesty. So I confessed. “Mrs. Kirkwood.”

Marissa nodded in complete understanding. “Thanks, Heather, for bringing me out of hiding. Now I have to call a certain excavator and find out if he has a guest bedroom.”

Even if I hadn’t heard the ominous sound of the vacuum cleaner upstairs, the sight of Dex’s car parked in the alley behind the salon clued me into the fact that he was still lurking around my apartment.

My feet needed a soothing cucumber rub and a long soak in the bathtub that, by now, should have a faucet. I pushed open the door and my nose immediately twitched in response to the strange smell of Chinese food mixed with…burning rubber?

“Dex?”

I heard Snap’s low, welcoming yowl from her hideout under the couch.

“You’re early.” Dex emerged from the bathroom. His hair was plastered against his head and his clothes were soaking wet. I suddenly remembered there were certain types of vacuum cleaners that sucked up both dirt
and
water.

“Actually, I’m late. Marissa came in just when I was about to close. It’s almost seven.”

“Seven?”

“What happened to—”

“I have to go.” Dex grabbed his bucket of tools and charged past me, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the floor.

“What do you think, Snap? Should we make a onetime contribution to his mission trip and save the apartment while there’s still time?”

At the sound of my voice, Snap crept out of hiding. I was touched by her loyalty until she rubbed her whiskers lovingly against the corner of the breakfast counter. Did I mention my nose had tricked me into believing that somewhere in the apartment was a container of sweet and sour chicken? Only it wasn’t a trick. There was a note from Dex, signing over custody of the white cardboard carton to me.

“I forgive you, Dex,” I said out loud. I grabbed a fork and shook the chopsticks to the side. They may be the authentic way to eat Chinese, but they weren’t quick enough to suit my stomach—which hadn’t had a deposit since a quick chocolate break mid-afternoon. I tap-danced my way back to the couch to find Snap already waiting there.

No way was I sharing. “I have one word for you. Indigestion. Go eat your kibbles.”

Someone knocked on the door and I figured Dex had decided to come back to confess to whatever handyman crime he’d committed. Or he’d changed his mind and wanted to share my supper. Too late for joint custody, buddy!

“All I know is there better be a faucet…” I have a bad habit of starting to talk to a person before I can actually see their face. Suddenly I was cured. Because the guy leaning casually against the railing wasn’t Dex.

“Heather, right? I’m Jared Ward.”

I’ve never been the kind of person who gets tongue-tied around strangers. Ask my parents, who claim I did my own imitation of stand-up comedy at their dinner parties before I turned three.

Come on, Heather. You could say the words “want cake” when the kids in your weekly playgroup were still blowing spit bubbles. You can do this!

“I thought I’d come by and see the apartment I’m
not
going to be living in this summer and meet my closest neighbor.” The teasing tone in his voice told me he had a sense of humor. The half step forward was my cue to invite him in.

“We’re neighbors?” A gold star for my advanced communication skills!

“We are now. Marissa is letting me live in the garage behind the studio.” He pointed over his shoulder and I could see his motorcycle parked next to a small concrete building at the end of the alley. He gave me a mischievous wink. “It ain’t much, but it’s home.”

“I just got off work. Things are kind of crazy at the moment.” Snap was probably finishing off my fried rice. And I still didn’t know why Dex had looked like he’d been in a dunk tank.

Jared didn’t take my not-ready-for-visitors hint. Instead, he ran a quick, appraising scan that started at my face and ended at my toes. I felt the heat from the blush that traveled along right behind it.

“You wear it well. Crazy, I mean. Not many people can pull it off.”

He had no idea. It was all in the accessories. And of course having unlimited minutes with God. I was just about to give in to a moment of weakness (that may or may not have had something to do with his eyes—which were as blue as the ocean on a travel brochure) and invite him in, when he gave me an easy smile.

“You don’t mind if I stop over when things
aren’t
so crazy, do you?”

“No.” That came out pathetically quick. He probably had girls fainting in a line behind him. Personality had always meant more to me than looks, but Jared Ward seemed to have been blessed with both. What was a girl to do?

“So, any idea when that will be?”

In about five minutes. As soon as I see what Dex did to the bathroom…
but I couldn’t say that without sounding like one of those desperate-for-a-Friday-date girls. And today
was
Thursday.

“The craziness tends to last a while.” I was being truthful, not coy, and I couldn’t resist the urge to test his confidence a little. “Like last night, when I was horseback riding with a friend? Some maniac on a motorcycle broke the sound barrier as he drove past us and almost sent the horses into orbit.”

Jared’s eyes widened, making them look even bluer. Not fair. “That was you?”

I wasn’t offended. It
had
been dark when he’d stopped to ask directions. I tipped the brim of my invisible cowboy hat.

“I’m sorry, I’m a city boy. When I got on that flat stretch of country road I just had to open it up.” Jared tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, the kind deliberately created with worn spots and artistically placed rips. “When I saw the horses running, I thought it was on purpose. You looked like you had it under control.”

How could I remain upset after that flattering—
but totally erroneous
—assessment?

“At least you slowed down the second time,” I murmured. Forgiveness was an important part of my faith, after all.

“So, Friday nights aren’t crazy, are they? What do people do around here on the weekends? Count tractors?”

He wasn’t going to give up, which left me feeling flattered
and
flustered. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been here very long, either,” I admitted.

“Really? Let’s figure it out together. What time do you get off work tomorrow night?”

“Five.”

“Great.” He bounded down the stairs and didn’t stop until he reached his home-away-from-home at the end of the alley. I didn’t realize I was still staring until he turned and waved at me. The wave I returned was limp with embarrassment and as soon as he disappeared, I lunged back into the apartment.

I was right. The take-out carton was lying on its side under the coffee table and Snap was cheerfully cleaning the last of the fried rice out from between her toes.

I fortified myself with a Tootsie Roll from Bernice’s cache in the canister marked Tea, pretended I was a FEMA worker and bravely entered the bathroom. With my eyes closed. I turned toward the spot where my bathtub had been that morning. When I opened them, there was a faucet.

“Snap, I have a faucet. A real, live, normal-looking faucet!”

And a date for Friday night, an irritating little voice reminded me.

It’s not a date. It’s two people who are new in town getting together to see the sites. All two or three of them.

I decided to celebrate—the faucet, of course—with a long soak in the bathtub.

When my phone rang a little after ten, I hoped it was Bree. She’d warned me she’d be putting in long hours helping her dad with the farm and there’d be times she wouldn’t be able to talk to me until after dark. Which was fine with me because I did some of my best talking late at night.

“Does it work?”

“Dex?”

Silence. I took that as a yes. His question had been so uncertain I wondered what exactly had taken place while I was gone during the day.

“Yes, it works.”

“I was late for another job.”

“There aren’t that many places to work around here,” I said, daring to tease him. “Did Sally give you a job as a waitress?”

“No.”

Obviously teasing Dex was like playing tennis when no one was on the other side of the net. Still, he’d made that “shaken not stirred” comment, so maybe there was a sense of humor buried in there somewhere. If someone had the patience to look for it.

“I’m not coming over tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be back on Monday to start in the kitchen. Did you want me to replace the cupboards or paint them?”

The image of a crowbar and splintered wood sprang into my head. “Paint them. Definitely. And thanks for the Chinese—”

He’d hung up on me again.

“Food.”

In the name of dessert, I grabbed another handful of Tootsie Rolls, tucked my Bible under my arm and curled up in the chair by the window to talk to God.

Psalms was always a good place to hear His voice. Even though David was a guy, he tried to live honestly before God. There were times he praised Him, times he questioned Him and times he asked Him for things. And times he asked God—in no uncertain terms—to squash his enemies. Which, truthfully, made me a little squeamish. But after having met Mrs. Kirkwood, I was a little more understanding. David also asked God to direct his steps, something I was doing on a daily (hourly?) basis. We had a lot in common.

My Bible fell open to Haggai again. Not because a divine hand stretched out and turned to it but because there was a folded-up piece of paper there. A receipt for sweet and sour chicken from the grocery store. Scrawled on the back of it was a question.

What does it mean that the people earned wages and put them in a purse with holes in it?

Dex had hijacked my devotional time!

Panicked, I thumbed through my Bible, looking for the extremely personal poetry, musings and notes to God that I sometimes wrote on the back of church bulletins and making sure The List, safely hidden in the Song of Songs, hadn’t been tampered with.

I breathed a sigh of relief when everything seemed to be in its rightful place. Not that Dex had been rifling through my Bible, but still…how had he known I was accidentally reading Haggai?

I skimmed through the verses and found the one he’d questioned. Why did he think I knew what the
purses with holes
passage meant? I wasn’t exactly a Bible scholar.

I did, however, know purses. They were kind of my specialty. And I was pretty good at finding shoes that matched, too. Encouraging him might not be a good idea, but I couldn’t resist. I grabbed a pen, took out a fresh sticky note and wrote the first thing I thought of when I imagined a rip in my Juicy bag.

You might lose something important.

I put it back in Haggai, chapter one. A booby trap to see if I’d catch a snoopy handyman.