OOOOOOOOOO
Brush your hair five hundred times on the night of the full moon. On the five-hundredth stroke, your true love will appear in the mirror next to you.
Jody started brushing.
By stroke one hundred she was starting to get a little embarrassed.
Stroke two hundred, she passed embarrassed and wandered into holy shit territory.
At stroke three hundred her arm was sore and she couldn't meet her own eyes in the mirror.
Stroke four hundred, well into "going to finish this no matter freaking what."
Approaching stroke four hundred fifty, true love was bullshit. The best you could hope for was a man to love and give you children.
She'd had that. Lost that.
She could see – something – in a certain someone's eyes, but he didn't seem to know she was alive, other than as a comrade-in-arms. Someone to go to for help when the law was involved.
Four -hundred-seventy-five.
Brushing her hair wasn't going to get her what she wanted. She needed to stop brushing her damned hair, walk her ass out to her truck and go find him. Find him and find out if she was the only one feeling this way.
Four hundred ninety.
Slowing down now.
Okay then.
Ten more strokes. Ten more.
It took more courage than she would have thought to keep brushing.
She stopped on stroke four hundred ninety-nine when the doorbell rang.
Heart in her throat, she went to the front door and opened it.
Freshly scrubbed, beard trimmed, daisies and ball cap clutched in nervous hands, Bobby said gruffly, "I wasn't sure I should come."
Jody smiled and drew him inside. "I'd have come to you if you hadn't."
End
