—Kahlil Gibran Dinnng! Char’s hand jerked at the sound of the doorbell. Her finger brushed the metal spike at the middle of the hot roller. “Dang it!” She shook her hand to cool it, then inspected the angry mark. “Who the heck?” She glanced in the mirror. Rollers covered the left side of her head, the right side lay flat and lifeless. Her pre-makeup face shone ghastly in the fluorescent light. The terry zip-front robe covered her from neck to ankle but was hardly fit for company. Dinnng! She hurried down the hallway. “Anyone who shows up unannounced gets the scare they deserve.” Rounding the corner of the mudroom, she saw Jimmy’s profile through the back door window. Why is he here so early? His face appeared above her café curtains. Scrunching the neck of the robe in her fist, she opened the door a crack. “Jimmy, is everything all right? Bella’s ceremony isn’t until three.” He stood, dress hat in hand, cheeks smooth and pink from a recent shave, comb tracks pristine in his damp hair.
