That was Mali for you. What’s wrong? You look sad. If it was on her mind, it came out of her mouth.

“Hey—I’m fine,” I said. “Not wearing any makeup.” I rolled my eyes.

“That’s not it. You never wear makeup,” she said, poking my cheek.

No, that wasn’t it. But I wasn’t just sad. And I didn’t like that my mask had slipped enough for Mali to notice. I didn’t like it one bit.

CHAPTER THREE

Ten thirty came and my client was right on time. I was used to his punctuality, not to mention his soft skin. I could tell he used oil after his showers, and that made my job easier, massaging already pliant skin. His muscles were always so tight, especially around his shoulders, so I assumed he sat behind a desk all day. He wasn’t military. I gathered that by his longer hair, curling at the tips.

Today he was so tense that my fingers hurt a little when they rubbed the patch of tissue at the top of his shoulders. He was a groaner—a lot of clients were—and he made these deep, throaty sounds when I loosened the knots he held in his body. The hour went fast. I had to tap his shoulder to wake him when it was over.

My ten-thirty client—his name was Toby, but I liked to call him Ten-thirty—was a good tipper and kept things simple. Never talked, except for that time he asked me out. Elodie freaked when I told her. She wanted me to tell Mali, but I didn’t want it to become a thing when it didn’t need to be. He was fine with my rejection—not the usual male reaction, I know. He hadn’t even hinted at any attraction toward me since, so I figured things were okay between us. What’s more, he hadn’t asked me out while I was treating him. I had run into him while I was walking out of the nail salon next door on a day off.

Forty-five minutes past eleven and there was still no Elodie. Usually she’d text if she was going to be more than fifteen minutes late. The man in the waiting area must have been new, because I didn’t recognize him and I never forgot a face. He seemed patient enough. But not Mali; she was about to call Elodie.

“I can take him if she’s not here in five minutes,” I suggested. “My next appointment can be moved an hour later, it’s Tina.” Mali knew most of our clients who came in and out of her spa; she remembered names like I did faces.

“Fine, fine. But your friend is always late,” she scolded. Mali was the nicest woman but was made of pure fire.

“She’s pregnant,” I said, defending my friend.