Page 11 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“Don’t leave your laundry unattended. Carts are at the back.” Then she returns to her magazine, holding it up in front of her like a shield.

I blink. “Thanks, I guess.”

As I grab a cart from the back of the store, the doorbell chimes again. My heart jumps into my throat the moment I look over my shoulder, my stomach turning over on itself when I see her. It’s as if the sun has lit her hair, a ring of orange and gold like a blazing sunset around her pale face. Her red lips part in a smile, and the other patrons who ignored me greet her like an old friend—even the old bat behind the register.

Before I know it, I’m moving toward her. Remembering the way her skin felt under my fingertips, the way her blue eyes shone brighter than any crystal. The way she sparked something in me that’s made it impossible to forget her, made it so even my dreams have been filled with visions of her.

“Cherry?”

I’m so focused on reaching her I miss the dryer door swinging out in front of me and slam into it hard, the sound ricocheting around the room as I fall to the floor. My ears ring and my vision blurs, every muscle in my back tensing as I try to blink up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling. Did I walk right into that door? Or did I die?

Because there appears to be an angel looking down at me.

CHAPTER3

Against All Odds

DUSTY

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

Looking down at the man on the floor, my chest squeezes. I know this man. I know his hair, his cheekbones, the smile that seems to linger on his face even after hitting his head on a dryer door.

“Joel?”

I fall to my knees and crouch next to him, my hand flitting over his head to see if he’s injured. My hair falls forward, and he reaches out to grasp a strand of it between his fingers. He shakes his head and rubs at the back of his scalp before squinting at me again.

“Cherry? What’s a place like you, doing in a girl like this?” he mumbles.

He looks almost exactly the same. His hair might be a bit longer—is thatpaint?—but he’s still every bit the non-conformist he was two years ago, with his tattoos, metal rings and anarchist clothing choices—and still so,sohandsome.

I wrap my fingers around his arm and pull him into a sitting position. His face is close to mine now, and those feelings I’ve buried for two years suddenly come rushing back to the surface.

“What—what are you doing here?” I ask.

“Well, I was planning on doing laundry, but apparently I went back in time.”

My smile spreads before I can even try to stop it. “You really went down hard. Are you okay?”

He nods, but as he does he grasps at his temple and flinches.

“Maybe I should call an ambulance and have you checked out.”

“No! No, it’s fine,” he says. “I just—” He blinks up at me and my legs turn to jelly as I gaze into his beautiful amber eyes. Heat rushes into my cheeks, and I look away. “I can’t believe you’re here.” It comes out too soft, too reverent, too . . . lovestruck.Not again, Dusty. Be cool.“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought— What about Vegas?”

I shrug. “I left about a year ago. Vegas wasn’t dealing me the best hands anymore.”

He lets me help him up and we notice everyone watching. “Guess I’m finally interesting enough for them,” he remarks. “Not every day they get to see an idiot smash his head off a dryer.”

I step back to put some distance between us. The way hestillmakes me feel is simply too intense. “In all fairness,” I say, “they’re a hard bunch to crack.”

He looks past me to where I’m sure the crowd is hanging on his every word. “They’re fans of yours, though.”

“I’ve managed to wear them down.”

I walk over to where I abandoned my empty basket and carry it over to my favorite dryer.

“You come here often, then?” he asks, following along behind me.

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