“I can tell you about how sweet Jonah was the other day when the herd of baby chinchillas I rescued got scared, so he cuddled them.”
“You shouldn’t tell anyone that story. Ever,” Emerson said. “And the only two rules of girls’ nights are no guys allowed and no one leaves until the bottles are empty. Those were your rules, Shay.”
With a shrug, Shay picked up one of the bottles and drained the remaining bit. There were still two half-empty ones left.
“That’s okay,” Harper said. “You guys cut off hours of prep work for me tonight by helping out with the decorations. All that’s left is getting everything to the park, and displaying my Sprouting Picassos’ artwork, which I can finish tomorrow.” She took a sip from her glass.
“If you guys help me prep the petting zoo pen early, we can set up the art show together,” Shay said.
“Perfect.” Harper dipped the brush into glittery emerald-green paint and lifted it to her friend’s forehead. “Close your eyes.”
Shay did as told, while Harper outlined the whimsical design she created in her mind. Working off a design was usually her MO, but sometimes it was fun to design while she was creating.
“What are you going to pick, Em?” Harper asked. “Make it something that will surprise Dax.”
“You should be a queen too,” Shay mumbled through still lips. “Then you can boss him around when he gets here.”
“Nah, I already do that.” Emerson picked up the binder of ideas and flipped through it. “Camo is Dax’s favorite color. You got anything camo themed?”
“Oh, how about GI Jane?” Shay asked. Harper didn’t hear the response. She was too lost in the creative process to pay attention. Mixing colors, enhancing people’s best features, creating a portal into make-believe—she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed this.
“How about you?” Emerson asked. “Harper?”
Harper took onyx paint and followed the natural curve of Shay’s eyes, making them bigger, more catlike, and exotic. “Oh, well, Adam likes bright colors, so maybe a mermaid,” she said, then remembered their earlier conversation and felt her belly warm. “Or a bunny.”
The room fell silent. Harper finished the last touches on Shay’s other eye and looked up—to find her friends looking back. Confusion and something akin to suspicion etched their faces.
“What?”
“I was asking if you wanted more wine,” Emerson said, holding up the bottle. “Seriously, a bunny? That’s about as sexy as your cat sweaters.”
Harper didn’t bother to point out that Adam had a magic touch when it came to kitties, because talking about his sexual prowess would lead to talking about sex. With him. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about that with her friends. Not until she understood it herself, because there was more going on than just sex.
“Ah hell.” Emerson plopped down on the couch and leaned her head back. “I should have known something was up when you started wearing your pageant hair.”
Harper patted down her hair, which was silky and smooth and had taken her an hour to straighten. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It looks like something off Miss America, or that nightly newscaster on the local evening news. No curls, no pencil holding it together, and way too sculpted to be anything good.” Emerson zeroed in on Harper until she was sweating. “He charmed you.”
“Adam is very charming,” Harper said, busying herself with cleaning the brushes off in the water, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. “And what does my hair have to do with anything?”
Emerson sat forward, her eyes going serious. “Rodney Fletcher. Seventh grade. He asked to borrow your history notes, the next day you came to school with highlights, only they were more hydrogen-peroxide orange than platinum. Rodney didn’t notice because he had a thing for Laura Fuller, who needed a history tutor.”
“Laura Fuller,” Harper said, smiling. “Rodney ended up running into her after college and they got married. Talk about destiny.”
Emerson was not impressed by the information. “Curtis Kemp, senior year. He asked to sit next to you on the bus to Disneyland. You showed up with your ends burnt from the iron you used to straighten your hair. He did notice because he was gay.”
“I still can’t believe he played it off so well.”
“He didn’t. I knew, the school knew. His parents knew. Everyone knew.” Emerson wasn’t done. “Jessie Long. You went red, he went to Columbia the next week for college. Lance Miller liked Posh Spice so you cut your hair off, and he cut eighteen months off his sentence by returning the rats he stole to the lab.”
“They were doing animal testing on them and he was sensitive to the cause,” Harper defended. “And he’s an animal-rights lawyer now.”
Emerson rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”