Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MOLLY

I can't believe Blake asked Krista to go to the hot tub with him. It's almost cruel how not into me he is. I can't seem to stop thinking about his arms around me, his requests to double on the zipline, and then dumping me to hot tub with Krista. First Kyle, then Blake. I should seek professional help because my man-picker is definitely broken, and I deserve better than both of them.

After Blake and Krista left, I thought Thor would ask me if I wanted to do something. That would almost be expected, right? Except he didn't. Instead, after we walked back to the lodge together, he awkwardly announced, "I guess I'll see you tonight." And then he walked away.

I stood there with my mouth hanging open like a mounted fish. What's wrong with me? Not to be conceited, but I'm not hideous. I'm accomplished and possess the ability to hold an intelligent conversation. You'd think that would be enough to attract moderate interest from the opposite sex.

I hurry up to my room and peel off my outerwear. Then I stand in front of the mirror and give myself a once-over. Helmet head aside, I decide I'm practically gorgeous. Curvy in all the right places, with icy blue eyes that aren't at all common in women who have nearly black hair.

Picking up the phone on the nightstand, I call downstairs and ask the front desk, "Is there a shuttle going into town soon?"

"There's one in twenty minutes," the woman tells me.

That's it, I'm going to go back into Elk Lake to see if Bride's Paradise carries dresses sexier than the ones I already bought. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures. And after today's trouncing of my self-esteem, I feel borderline frantic to find someone worthy of me.

After changing into a dry pair of jeans, I get my purse and head to the lobby. I expect to see Paul waiting, but there's a younger guy driving today. "Hello," I say. "Are you going into town?"

He nods once. "Yup. You ready to go?"

"Yup." Getting into the car, I ask, "I'm the only one?"

"Looks that way."

Ah, a man of few words. I can work with that. "I'm Molly, by the way."

"Hey." That's it. I covertly lean down and sniff my armpit. Nope, I'm fine. Then why is it this guy won't even tell me his name?

I remain silent until I reach my destination, then I get out of the car without saying goodbye. As I walk into Bride's Paradise, I realize I might be taking the driver's silence too much to heart, but honestly, I'm really starting to wonder if the world perceives me way differently than I imagine they do. I thought I hadn't been dating because I wasn't interested in dating, but maybe it's because no one wants to go out with me. How depressing.

The bell over the door rings as I walk through it, and Melissa looks up from what she's doing. "Molly, hi!" she greets enthusiastically. "How did the mixer go last night?"

Taking off my coat, I tell her, "Not well. Not only did I run into my ex, but the guy I thought I could be interested in friend-zoned me immediately. There was one other guy who seemed like a decent prospect, but I think he's interested in the same woman the guy I'm interested in is."

"Yikes." Melissa shakes her head sadly. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too," I tell her. "So much so I've come back looking for a real showstopper."

Melissa absentmindedly rubs her pregnant belly. "How do you feel about going backless?" she asks.

"Cold," I respond. "But if that's the sexiest you've got, I'm willing to give it a try."

Walking across the room, she pulls out a silvery blue silk dress that looks more like a nightgown than real clothes. "This isn't for everyone, but I think you can pull it off."

I'm not sure why she thinks that, but I'm desperate enough to try anything. "I'll need a size ten," I tell her.

Rifling through the rack, she says, "I've got an eight and a twelve. Let's try them both."

Following her into the dressing room, I decide that if either of them is going to work, it's going to be the twelve. I haven't worn a size eight since high school. After Melissa hangs the dresses on a hook in my cubicle, she says, "I'll go out and see if I can find some other options."

I take off my clothes before putting on the larger of the two dresses. It's so big I look like I'm wearing a fancy potato sack. Taking it off, I try on the size eight. In a word, it's snug, but not unattractively so.

When Melissa comes back to inquire how I'm doing, I ask her, "Do you carry any shapeware?"

"That sounds promising," she says. "Let me see you and then I'll try to find something that will work."

I open the door, and the shopkeeper lets out a low whistle. "Girl, you're on fire!"

While I appreciate the props, I tell her, "I'm about an inch and a half away from being on fire. That's why I need some help."

Melissa eyes me closely. "The problem is the back dips so low if you wear a support garment, the waistline will show. In fact," she adds, "this is really a no underwear kind of dress."

I stare at her like she just suggested I walk into tonight's event stark naked. "That's not an option."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't fly commando," I tell her prudishly.

She laughs. "The dress is long enough that you won't flash anyone."

"That's not the point. I like underwear."

"Molly," she says. "This dress fits you like a glove. As such, you can't wear underwear, or you'll have lines."

"Then I'll find another dress."

"Or," she suggests, "you can put your fears aside and wear this one. You're a total smoke show in it."

Turning back toward the mirror, I move from side to side. I suppose if I suck my stomach in like I'm preparing to take a punch, it might work. "I'm not sure I can sit in it."

"Let's try." She leads the way out of the dressing room and gestures to a pin cushion stool. "That's pretty low so if you can sit on that, you should be fine with any kind of chair."

Walking over to the stool, I turn my knees to the side before lowering myself. So far, so good. Once I'm settled, I tell Melissa, "If the seams didn't rip doing that, I might just be okay."

She points to the mirror in front of me. "Look at yourself."

I follow the direction of her finger and gasp. If that's me, and I'm having a hard time believing that it is, I am a smoke show! "Wow."

"Right? You look amazing!"

I wiggle around a little and check for signs of anything inappropriate hanging out, but she's right, this dress looks like it was sewn right onto me. It's perfect. "No underwear, huh?"

She shakes her head. "No way."

Standing up, I approach the three-way mirror to get a look at the back. I'd whistle at myself if I didn't think it would be conceited. "And a size eight to boot." Running my hands down the sides of the material, I tell her, "It feels amazing on."

"It looks stunning. Listen, Molly, I'm not just saying this, but you look like a sexy queen in this dress."

"I'll take it," I tell her before asking, "Is there someplace in town where I can get my hair styled?"

"You bet there is!" she says with a huge smile on her face. "In fact, I'll make a call and see if I can get you in right away."

She hurries over to the counter while I take another minute to enjoy the view. I feel so confident in this dress, I decide to be brave and trust that I'll survive a night without undies.

Once I'm back in my street clothes, I meet Melissa at the cash register. "My friend, Fernando, made a call and moved his next appointment. He can see you right away."

"Fernando, huh? That sounds exotic for a small town in Wisconsin."

"You think his name sounds exotic, wait until you meet him." Her tone suggests I'm in for a real treat. "Leave your dress here and pick it up after your hair is done," she says. "I want to see what he does to you." Pointing out the window, she adds, "He's three doors down in a shop called Caliente."

Giving Melissa my credit card, I nervously ask, "He's good though, right?"

"He's great!" Then she says, "You have nothing to lose, Molly, and everything to gain. Just let yourself go."

Her words sear into my brain like my new mantra. I've already lost the guy and can't seem to interest anyone else. Why not let Fernando loose to see if he can unearth my inner goddess?

Walking into Caliente feels like walking into an elegant nightclub. The walls are painted black. The only relief from the darkness comes from the gold frames around the mirrors and the pristinely white styling chairs. Crystal clear chandeliers hang at various levels around the room.

"Molly, is that you?" An extremely short man with spiky hot pink hair claps his hands together enthusiastically while pushing people out of the way to get to me.

"Fernando?" I guess.

"Girl, yes! Melissa said this was an emergency and she wasn't kidding!" Says the man with hot pink hair.

Ignoring the obvious insult, I tell him, "I need a style for a dinner tonight."

He walks around me like he's a carousel and I'm the center island holding the ride together. "Honey, no. You also need some shape." Reaching out to touch the ends of my hair, he adds, "And a serious deep conditioning." And I thought my self-esteem was lagging before coming in here.

"I don't want to lose a lot of length," I tell him.

He ignores my comment. "Shake your head from side to side." As I follow orders, he looks even more aghast. "It doesn't move."

Reaching out to take my hand, he leads me across the room to his station. I'm a little nervous sitting down, but then I remind myself that Melissa recommended this guy and she looks normal.

Fernando takes a cape out of the cabinet beneath the vanity and proceeds to shake it out like he's a bullfighter and I'm the bull. Then with great flare, he wraps it around my neck. "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asks.

In lieu of answering, I shake my head. I think I'd better be stone cold sober in case he decides to go rogue on my head. Fernando twirls the chair around so it's facing away from the mirror, before telling me, "Close your eyes."

"Fernando …"

"I know what I'm doing, Molly. I promise you won't be disappointed." For some reason, his confidence soothes me, so I do as I'm told.

Instead of carrying on a conversation like most hairstylists do, Fernando concentrates solely on my hair. He snips for a solid thirty minutes before he's satisfied. But even then, he won't let me look in the mirror. I have to keep my eyes closed while he leads me to the hair washing station. My head is wrapped in a towel on the way back.

I'm beyond anxious by the time he's done blowing it dry and making the final snips. Then he twirls my chair back around to the mirror and declares, "Tada!"

I tentatively take in my reflection. I can't help but wonder, who in the heck is staring back at me?