Avril Carson had to try. Because the hairdresser-turned-actress (turned hairdresser) had left little Sago Beach, Florida, with her whole life in front of her and the man she'd loved by her side. Now she'd come back, with his ashes in an urn, and not even the chance of a child in her future. But she had a sneaking suspicion there was one in her late husband's not too-distant past...
And as for romance -- well, those days were behind her. Or were they? For Max Wright was pursuing her with a vengeance that made her feel things she thought she'd never feel again.
Maybe it was time to practice some beauty shop magic on herself...
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|Title of Harlequin Romance eBook: Beauty Shop Tales|
|Release Date: 09-01-2007|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Harlequin Next|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Beauty Shop Tales|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||Excellent navigation features are available via Adobe such as bookmarks and a quick access table of contents. Text search is easily accessible. An Adobe DRM-protected file is different than a pdf file in that it uses Adobe DRM (Digital Rights Management) technology, which authors and publishers use to protect their content from illegal online distribution and to set certain privileges such as restrictions on copying and printing.|
Beauty Shop Tales
Here, where the world is quiet, Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds and spent waves riot In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Today, as I fly out of LAX, probably for the last time, the souvenirs I'm taking with me are two truths I gleaned doing hair in the Hollywood movie industry: 1) appearance is everything; and 2) reality, that eternal shape-shifter, is the biggest illusion of all.
Reality is 99.9 percent perception. It morphs into whatever form best moves ahead the perceiver.
As I, Avril Carson, thirty-five-year-old widow of Chet, and former aspiring-starlet-turned-Hollywood-stylist, wipe my clammy palms on my Dolce & Gabbanaswhich I bought gently worn at a consignment shop for a fraction of the retail price but no one needs to know thatand prepare to speed into the wild blue yonder into the next chapter of my life, witness Hollywood truths one and two play out in real life.
It goes like this: Even though I loathe flying, I've convinced myself that I must fly across country because the alternative is to come rolling back home into Sago Beach, Florida, in a Greyhound bus.
No can do. Ride the bus, that is.
Not when these jeans retail for nearly three times the cost of a bus ticket.
Not when I'd have to travel twenty-seven hundred miles, stopping at forty-one different stations along the way, to arrive at 3:42 in the morning. Call me vain, but I refuse to go two days, sixteen hours and fifteen minutes without a shower. It makes my skin crawl just thi...