Strangely enough, I knew exactly what she meant. “I’m from out of town, but we spoke when I came in last week. I’m a journalist.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t remember the manicure appointment I’d canceled at the last minute.

Her light eyebrows climbed up over the top of her glasses. “Oh, right! You interviewed my sister too.”

“Yes.” Davina had been the ideal candidate for a character profile of a Pleasant Hollow resident with a Hallmark-movie job, minus the living in Pleasant Hollow part. My ribs tightened at the reminder of my earlier setback. Move on, girl. “My name’s Adina.”

“Laura. I own Twinkly Nails. Davina told me about the misunderstanding.”

I shifted in my chair. “Um…yeah…I’m sorry I wasted her time.”

“It’s her fault too, because she insists on using the Pleasant Hollow hashtag on all her posts. I know she’s trying to be supportive and pay her success forward, but it was bound to cause confusion.” She held up a stainless-steel cuticle pusher. “Can I cut your cuticles or just push back?”

“Whatever you think is best.” I instantly liked Laura, as I had her sister. “No need to play the blame game. I enjoyed talking to her, and maybe someday I’ll feature her in a story. Just not this one.” The direction of the conversation reminded me there was a dual purpose to being in this salon right now: a much-needed manicure and my new angle. Focusing on both Finn and Kate’s advice to open a no-pressure dialogue, I said, “So you’re not originally from Pleasant Hollow either, I assume?”

“Nope. Born and raised in the Albany area.”

“Can I ask what brought you to this tiny town?”

She lifted an eyebrow and cocked her head. “You really want to know?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t ask otherwise,” I said truthfully.

She placed a warm washcloth over my hands and rubbed them together, instantly scoring even more points. “I got my cosmetology certification when I was eighteen. I worked in nail salons for years, slowly building up a decent clientele. But I didn’t always agree with the owner’s choices—what gels they used, what products they invested in, and such. I dreamed of opening my own shop.”

She massaged my right hand with a soothing yet firm touch. “I didn’t come from money, had no degree beyond high school, and property is mad expensive. But then a real estate agent showed me this space. I had never even heard of this backwater town, but the price was right, and unlike most cities, where there’s a salon on every block, there was zero competition here. I jumped on it and never looked back.” She finished massaging my left hand. “Do you want to pay now?”