Cut Short Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Julia Wolf

  Coming Soon

  Cutting In

  Cut Short

  The Sublime

  Julia Wolf

  Copyright © 2018 by Julia Wolf

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by: Amy Queau

  Editing by: Ashley Martin

  Proofreading by: Monica Black

  Formatting by: Cora Cade

  To all the women supporting other women,

  making incredible things happen.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Julia Wolf

  Coming Soon

  Cutting In

  Chapter 1

  One

  The bright red sign brought me to a halt.

  I looked left and right to check if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. The single word taunted me with its decisiveness. SOLD.

  “Rachel! Wait!”

  I turned and saw my friend Frannie running to catch up. We had been walking back through town after a hike in the neighboring state park when I broke into a sprint at my first sighting of the omen of doom. I looked back at the sign. That evil, evil sign.

  “Why’d you take off like that? You left me in the damn dust!” Frannie said when she caught up.

  “Look.” I pointed to the sign.

  Frannie sighed. “It was inevitable. You knew that.”

  I gazed up at the hundred-year-old stone house. It was separated from the sidewalk by a narrow river that was overlooked by a two-story wraparound porch. The paint was chipped and peeling, but to me, it looked nothing less than perfect.

  When I had stumbled upon it as a kid, I took one look and declared it my “one day” house. Then it went on the market a few months ago and my heart raced with possibility, until, of course, I saw the price tag. Yeah, there was no way.

  Another dream gone.

  Frannie slung her long arm around my shoulder, and I blinked back tears. “I know, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t going to cry over something that wasn’t mine. Even though it was mine.

  I sniffed, my eyes tracing over the uneven stones. “The people who bought it are horrible,” I said. “They’ll probably paint the antique wood trim. They seem like the type.”

  Frannie cocked her head. “So, you know who bought the house?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “No idea.”

  She laughed. “Maybe they’ll be the best neighbors ever.” She leaned in and whispered, even though there was no one around to hear her, “Maybe it’s a handsome gentleman.”

  A year ago, I was freshly divorced and in the “all men suck” phase. This was followed by the “no one will ever love me” phase, and finally, the much more enjoyable, “screw all the attractive dicks” phase. I was getting tired of Tinder hook-ups, and the possibility of going on real dates and maybe even having a relationship didn’t sound so horrifying anymore. But dating the—maybe—guy who bought my dream house? Not gonna happen.

  “Even if he’s hot, he’s now my mortal enemy.”

  Frannie nudged my shoulder. “Oh please. I was your mortal enemy last week when I took the last eel roll.”

  I held up my hand. “Please don’t bring that up. The memory is still painful.”

  She tugged on a strand of my red hair, drawing my attention to her face. Her hideous, terrifying face. She looked like she had a hundred chins and no neck, and her eyes were so crossed, I almost couldn’t see her irises.

  A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. I wanted to stew, but she wasn’t letting me.

  “Is something wrong with my face? Why are you looking at me like that?” Frannie asked.

  I snorted. “How can someone so beautiful make herself look so disgusting?”

  There must have been rubber underneath Frannie’s delicate features. That’s the only possible explanation for the faces she pulled off.

  Frannie wrapped her arms around me and kissed the top of my head. “You’re the only one who appreciates my finest talent, Rach. I hope you always find me as disgusting as you do today!”

  “I promise if I meet someone I find more disgusting, I will let you down easy,” I said.

  Frannie gave me a very serious look. “That’s all I ask.”

  I took one last glance at the house, then turned away, completely gutted. “Let’s go. I can’t look at it anymore.”

  Crossing the road, we cut through an alleyway between two old buildings, bringing us out onto the historic Main Street where I lived and worked.

  “Are you still stopping by the salon?” Frannie asked.

  I caught her eye. “Do you really need to ask?”

  She scoffed. “Nope. You’re a total workaholic, and don’t take that as a compliment!”

  I shrugged. “When I asked Eliza if I could buy in, I knew what I was getting into.”

  We stepped in front of Salon 410 where we both worked. Through the large picture windows, I could see clients in various stages of getting their hair done in every chair but mine and Frannie’s. After five years of working as a stylist there and a year of partial ownership, I still had the feeling of coming home when I walked through the door—which was a good thing, since I almost always worked seven days a week.

  “You coming in?” I asked, one hand already on the antique brass door handle.

  Frannie shook her head. “Not today! I dragged my ass out of bed to hike with you this morning, which is more than I usually do on my Mondays off. I’m going to drive back to Baltimore, wrap myself up in my fluffy blankets, and hibernate for the rest of the day.”

  I laughed. “Thanks for coming this morning.”

  “It was worth it
. That waterfall was gorgeous.”

  I waved and started to walk in when the customer on the other side of the window, sitting in Eliza’s chair, captured my attention. He looked startlingly familiar. I stared at him for a few moments until my brain caught up with my eyes.

  My stomach dropped to the floor, and my fingers tingled.

  “Holy shit!” I jumped back from the door as though I’d been burned.

  Frannie had started toward her car, but she turned around. “What?”

  I grabbed her arm and pointed toward the glass.

  I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. “Frannie, that’s Joe Silver! My all-grown-up high school crush is sitting in my salon. Joe, sender of the email!”

  Frannie’s eyes went wide. “Email Joe? Holy shit!”

  Two

  I did what any well-adjusted woman would do if she saw the object of her high school obsession sitting in her salon fourteen years later: I hid behind my very tall friend and peeked around her. Joe and I were separated by fifteen feet and a piece of hundred-year-old glass.

  Frannie tried to turn around so she could see me, but I held onto her hips. “What in the world are you doing, crazy?” We went around and around a few times until I realized we were probably making a spectacle, which was the last thing I wanted.

  “I don’t want him to see me! I wouldn’t even know what to say.” I shuddered, looking everywhere for an escape route. “And what if he doesn’t remember me?”

  I knew I was behaving like a lunatic, but I was confident Frannie would love me anyway.

  “Wait, that is the guy you had a mad crush on in high school, right?” Frannie tried to look at me over her shoulder.

  “Yup. And then, the email,” I said. “I know it’s been fourteen years, and I know I should be over it, but just seeing him is already dredging up a mess of emotions. I don’t think I want to play catch-up with him, especially not today.”

  I peeked around Frannie again and studied his profile, feeling that old ache of longing. My heart skipped more than one beat when he laughed at something Eliza said. He had turned into a man since I last saw him. His stubbly jaw and cheekbones were sharper, more angular, and he had an air of confidence about him, as though completely at ease with himself. I was a little sad he’d lost the black-framed glasses. I wrote terrible poems about those glasses as a teenager.

  My hands dropped from Frannie’s waist and she turned to look at me. “You’re drooling,” she said.

  “I am not!” I wrapped a strand of hair around my finger. “But damn, he has grown into a fine-looking man. Life has obviously been kind to him.”

  She nodded vehemently. “I totally see why teenage Rachel was smitten. I don’t understand at all why adult Rachel is hiding, though.”

  I waved my hand around almost frantically. “It makes sense in my mind.”

  Without warning, Frannie pulled me into a tight hug, spinning me away from the window.

  “You know I love you, right?” she asked.

  I nodded into her chest. “Yes.”

  “You know I only want the best for you, right?”

  I looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “Right…”

  Suddenly, the salon door chimed behind me. I stiffened at the sound and groaned Frannie’s name.

  She pushed me away, and whispered, “You’ll thank me for this later!”

  Then, in a much louder voice, she yelled, “Joe!”

  I mouthed the words mortal enemy to her.

  Frannie giggled before she took off in a bouncy walk down the hill toward her car.

  I gathered every bit of my courage and turned. There he was, looking in Frannie’s direction, a small, inquisitive smile on his face. When she didn’t turn around, his focus shifted to me.

  I wanted to run into the salon for safety, but my feet wouldn’t move.

  And then, my name crossed his lips, and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Rachel?”

  Joe Silver looked directly at me with an expression of astonishment.

  “Hi, Joe.” My voice wavered slightly.

  God, he was tall. As a teen, he had been lanky, but now, in his thirties, he had filled out in all the right places. For just a moment, I let myself take him in. His dark hair was freshly cut, giving him an almost boyish look. But he was no boy. His face was a contrast of sharp angles and soft places. His wide mouth was plush, and his grey-blue eyes were still so easy to fall into.

  He was stunning.

  I was stunned.

  I looked up and down the sidewalk for Frannie, but that rat must have already scurried to her car. She was in big trouble for putting me in this situation.

  Joe stepped forward, his familiar eyes roaming my face. Then he blasted me with a wide smile, making my knees weak from the sheer force of it.

  “Rachel,” he repeated, this time a statement instead of a question.

  He laughed, and before I knew what was happening, he threw his arms around me. Moving of their own volition, my arms circled around his narrow waist and I laid my head on his chest. We stood like that for a few seconds—not nearly long enough—before I pulled back, feeling untethered and tongue-tied. The hug couldn’t have lasted longer than ten seconds, but it. Was. Epic. When I was a teenager, Joe would sometimes throw his arm around my shoulder, but that was as close as we ever got.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re here, just standing on the sidewalk,” he said.

  I glanced in the direction Frannie had gone. “I was hiking with my friend and I...I’m heading home now.” I nodded as though I agreed with what I was saying even though my insides were at war. My body screamed, No, what are you doing? Why are you trying to leave this beautiful man? But my heart yelled, Run, Rachel, get out while I’m still mostly intact!

  Joe touched my arm. “Rachel, wait! You’re really leaving?”

  I tried my hardest to act indifferent, my battered heart having won the fight today. “It was so great seeing you!” I said, sounding much more cheerful than I felt. “Maybe we’ll run into each other around town again!”

  I didn’t think of myself as a coward, not until that moment at least. When I took off down the hill at full speed, away from Joe, away from my salon, and far, far away from the house I’d always dreamed of, I wasn’t proud. I was good at sticking things out even when I shouldn’t, good at making things work even when they were beyond repair, but today, I had taken the easy way out and made a run for it, to spare my heart from any more bruises.

  Halfway down the hill, far enough away that I couldn’t see Joe anymore—if he were even in the same spot—I climbed up the narrow stairway to my apartment, which took up the top floor of an art deco brick building above an antique shop.

  I paced around my cozy space for a while, stopping to rearrange the collection of mannequin heads on my living room shelves, smoothing their hair with my hands.

  Once I’d paced every inch of the seven hundred square feet, the only thing left to do was climb the walls, and since that wasn’t physically possible, I headed back to work. Surely the coast had to be clear now. I doubted Joe lingered for very long after witnessing my mad dash down the sidewalk.

  I had gone fourteen years without seeing Joe Silver. Realistically, I could probably avoid him for the rest of my life.

  Tiber City, my little bubble, was just twenty minutes outside Baltimore. The town felt like a snapshot from the past. All of the buildings lining the cobblestone Main Street were different styles and facades, none built later than the fifties. The range of colors and heights, and the differing architectural styles, fitting together like patches on a quilt, made the town unique.

  I’d loved this town since my mom and I spent the day here when I was still in pigtails, going in and out of antique shops. As an adult, I’d come with David, my now ex-husband, to hunt for expensive art in the galleries and mid-century modern furniture in the antique stores. Two years ago, newly separated from a disaster of a marriage, I had started ca
lling this small city home.

  Tucked snug between two other buildings, my hundred-year-old, smoky purple, wood-sided salon held the position of one of my favorite places in the world. I pulled open the door, and like always, smiled when I walked in. The space was sunny and welcoming, with light walls and antique wide-plank wood floors. When I bought into the business last year, my influx of cash allowed us to freshen up the decor and buy new chairs for each of our six stylists.

  Eliza was sitting at the reception desk. She looked up, her eyes almost hidden by her dark, heavy bangs, and gave me a small smile.

  I sat next to her. “Hey, E,” I said quietly.

  Eliza liked us to keep chatter to a minimum, and though I was now technically a “boss” too, I still followed her rules because they were working. The salon was always busy, and clients seemed to appreciate the peaceful atmosphere.

  “What are you doing here? You don’t have any clients on the books,” she said.

  Opening a desk drawer, I pulled out a notebook. “I know. I set aside some paperwork I need to do, though. And if we have any walk-ins, I can take them.”

  She shook her head. “I work too much, so I don’t have a lot of room to talk, but I always take at least one day off every week. You don’t have to be here every single day, Rach.”

  “I like being here.” I glanced around at the other stylists applying color, giving haircuts, blasting blow-dryers. “These are my people.”

  She laughed lightly. “Okay. You know what works for you.”

  I spent the rest of the day doing paperwork for a charity event the salon was involved in and took three walk-in haircuts.