Free Cure for the Common Breakup by Beth Kendrick

stalked away, the queen of spades stuck to the bottom of her pristine white shoes.
    One of the salon employees started to laugh. Then the others joined in, and finally the teenager. Summer realized that at least ten consecutive minutes had passed, and she hadn’t once thought about plane crashes, Aaron Marchand, mistakes from her past, or fears of her future.
    Things were looking up.

chapter 7

    â€œH ow did you do that?” Ingrid gazed up at Summer with awe.
    Summer threw back her shoulders and stepped into the little salon. “Do what?”
    â€œYou
handled
her.”
    â€œYou did handle her,” the manicurist agreed. “And
no one
handles Mimi Sinclair. She’s the second-biggest bully in Black Dog Bay.”
    â€œWhich is why someone had to handle her.” Summer grinned and scanned the bottles of nail polish.
    Ingrid trailed behind her. “But you . . . you took her wallet and her money and you lived to tell the tale.”
    â€œIf looks could kill . . .” The nail tech shivered.
    â€œLet her look.” Summer picked out a shade of turquoise, then put it back. “I get glared at worse than that every time I tell people to turn off their cell phones before takeoff.” She shrugged. “I’m a flight attendant. I absorb rage and wrath on a daily basis; it’s my job.” She glanced back at Ingrid. “And by the way, you don’t have to go to that party.”
    The girl’s cheeks reddened. “How do I get out of it? She didn’t ask me to go; she
told
me.”
    â€œYeah, well, I’m guessing she doesn’t sign your paychecks. Your brother’s, either. Blow it off.”
    Ingrid nibbled her lower lip. “I don’t even know what I’d wear to something like that.”
    â€œMadras shorts and a stick up your ass. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not going.”
    â€œHere, try this.” One of the salon employees selected a coppery polish and handed it to Summer. “By the way, I’m Cori and you’re my hero.”
    â€œMine, too.” The second employee offered a handshake. “I’m Alyssa. Your mani-pedi’s on the house.”
    â€œPlus a deep-conditioning treatment.” Cori regarded Summer’s hair with evident dismay. “I insist.”
    Ingrid mumbled something that might have been “good-bye” under her breath and slipped out the door.
    Summer introduced herself while Cori and Alyssa led her over to the shampoo basins by the back wall.
    â€œYou’re going to be famous by nightfall.” Cori handed Summer a yellow nylon smock. “The woman who stood up to Mimi Sinclair and lived to tell the tale.”
    â€œMost of our summer residents are great, but not her.” Alyssa grabbed a stack of towels. “She’s a nightmare. We call her the terrorist in tweed.”
    â€œDoes she own that giant purple mansion on the other side of the bay?” Summer asked.
    â€œNo, that belongs to Miss Huntington,” Cori said. “The first-biggest bully in Black Dog Bay.”
    Summer settled into the padded chair and positioned her head in the large black sink. “Really? No one who paints their house purple can be all bad.”
    Cori scoffed. “That’s what you say now. Wait till you meet her.” She examined Summer’s hair and scalp, then gathered an array of shampoos, conditioners, oil treatments, and spray bottles. “She painted her house purple for spite.”
    â€œOoh, sounds juicy,” Summer said. “Who was she trying to spite?”
    Alyssa shook her head. “Who can keep track of all her vendettas? There’s so many of them.”
    Two hours later, Summer emerged from the salon with immaculate nails and freshly highlighted hair.
    â€œYou look stunning,” Alyssa declared.
    â€œI called Beryl at the boutique next door,” Cori said. “She’s expecting