Page 85 of The Home Grown
He’s right. That’s this coming Wednesday. After all this effort, this is what we face. A single game and the potential for some silverware.
But I’m distracted. As Ryan, Liam, and Danny—even Jen—launch into a conversation about the Cup. Typically, I would be equally invested, but I can only think about Ellie.
Chapter Seventeen
ELLIE
I’m tryingto muster the courage to tell Kathryn that I want to focus on bridal hair. I mean, it’s not like she doesn’t know that’s my aspiration, what with the magazine and stuff, but I need her to understand that it’s time for me to take it more seriously. It’s time for me to take a step back from nails and spray tans.
And it’s all thanks to Mike. He may be impulsive, but he’s full of heart. He’s ambitious. Driven. And I’ve probably been watching too many of his hockey clips this weekend because I took a leaf from his book and spontaneously booked myself onto a workshop with last-minute availability.
Seeing him achieve his dreams, standing in the salon wearing the tracksuit he’s worked his whole life for ignited something inside me. It made me realise I need to take control of my circumstances. Jess was right—and Mike, too, in his own way. Watching him chase what he wanted made me realise I’ve been hiding behind Kathryn’s plans for too long.
I watch Kathryn move towards the blinds—waiting until she’s turned away from me before I speak.
“I’ve booked myself onto a bridal workshop tomorrow,” I say. “I think it’s time I put more focus on hair than nails.”
I brace myself for her reaction.
She freezes, then turns around slowly after a long pause, meeting my eyes.
“Bridal? I thought you did that for fun more than anything.”
I bite back the frustration rising inside me. “Well, I enjoy it, and it’s what I want to concentrate on,” I say. “I figure doing a new workshop will strengthen my skills. It’s been a while since I’ve done any formal training.”
She doesn’t respond straight away. Instead, she moves towards the counter and busies herself with the reception computer, aggressively clicking the mouse.
“I see you’ve cleared your day,” she says after a painful stretch of silence.
“Yeah. Everything’s sorted,” I say.
“Right, well, who’s going to open the salon tomorrow? I’ve got an appointment first thing.”
“You’re first client isn’t until eleven. You can open when you get here,” I say.
I know what game she’s playing. She’s trying to guilt me into giving in, cancelling the workshop and pandering to her every need. But today, I’m compelled to stand my ground, even if it means being subjected to Kathryn’s sour mood.
She glares at me for what feels like an eternity, the tension crackling in the air as I wait for an outburst, but she mutters, “I guess I’ll have to,” barely looking at me.
The conversation dies there, and I feel relieved; pleased I stood my ground. And for the rest of the day, she hardly acknowledges me as we move around the salon, working alongside each other with absolutely no chit-chat.
Not that it’s a bad thing because I’ve got too much thinking to do.
Mike.
Mike and his infectious personality. His carefree attitude and passion. And the moment he held me in his arms and made me feel … I don’t know—present. Like hugging me was something special.
There’s something about him that pulls me in and makes me feel like I’m eighteen again and everything is fresh and exciting and simple.
Simple.
And the more I think about him, the more simple things become.
Why am I resisting the obvious pull between us?
Because I think he likes me as much as I like him … and that terrifies me. It terrifies me because I don’t really know him at all. I mean, I know who he is, what he does … but I don’t knowhim. I don’t know what he’s interested in outside of hockey aside from whisky and bad jokes. But I do know I enjoy being around him. I enjoy how he makes me feel. I enjoy listening to him talk—and the way he articulates himself? As if he doesn’t care about speaking his mind. That’s something I could only dream of doing.
But I’m still terrified.
