Still waiting for any sign of a server, I search through Google for ideas on what kinds of romantic gestures shy women like, but that leaves me feeling hollow and ineffective. As if a google search could give me an answer for how to win Casey over. Or anyone else, for that matter. Every woman is different. I have to decide what to do based on what I know about her.
What do I know about her? I know she works too hard. She’s straightforward, honest, kind, drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent, strong, and capable.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the heartbreaker of the century.”
I glance up to see where the voice is coming from, and the waitress, whom I’ve never seen before, smirks down at me.
“Technically, it’s not the same century that it was when I lived here last.”
The server squares her shoulders and gives me a pointed look. “You know what you want yet?”
I order a strawberry milkshake and a double order of onion rings.
“Anything else?”
“This is gonna sound crazy, but do you have a phone book I could borrow?”
She eyes me suspiciously but then nods. “I think we got some in the back.”
Minutes later, I’m thumbing through an actual phonebook for ideas. Darling Creek is as small of a town as it’s always been; it doesn’t have much in the way of luxuries outside of Hattie’s Hair Cuttery. But the book has listings for Bozeman, so over a plate of onion rings, I dial up enough area businesses to help me create the perfect day for Casey tomorrow.
There’s only one more person I need to talk to, and after she accidentally-on-purpose nicked my ear last night, I have a feeling she’s not going to want to help me. But I have to give it a shot.
After I pay for my meal, I head across the street to the salon, holding my breath that Hattie’s there. And that she’s not going to chuck a comb at me.
The door chimes when I step inside, an unpleasant chemical odor hitting my nose. A customer is in Hattie’s chair with aluminum foil all over her hair, and Hattie stands behind her, wearing latex gloves, with a look of concentration.
She glances up briefly, then continues combing a lurid red color through the customer’s hair.
“Well, if it isn’t Tanner Murphy! How does it feel to be the town’s most sought-after bachelor?”
I blow out a breath in relief and give thanks for sarcasm over a comb to the eye.
“Hi, Hattie.”
Her lip curls as she works on the strands of hair. “Need a shave and a haircut again? Already? Sign in on the clipboard on the desk, and I’ll get to you as soon as possible.”
I stammer. “Uh, that’s not why I’m here. I need your help.”
“With?”
“A woman.”
She pauses and finally looks up at me. “Oh, is that all?”
Over her peels of laughter, I add, “And I want to clear some things up.”
She’s not laughing anymore, but gives me a dark look, then points to the stack of magazines spread out on a table in the waiting area. “I close in an hour. Then we can talk. In the meantime, enjoy the reading material.”
I contentedly spend the next hour rifling through Better Homes and Gardens. Even learn a few things about blind baking a pie crust and how to de-glaze a pan. Not a bad evening spent.
When the last customer leaves, Hattie speaks to me on the street in front of the shop.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Alright. I’m listening. And you better hurry up because my husband will be here to pick me up any minute; my car’s in the shop.”
Here’s my one shot to set the record straight.
“First, I just wanted to say I’m real happy for you, and I want you to know the truth.”