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Chapter Eight

I set the curling iron down and checked my handiwork. Beautiful, bouncing ringlets graced my head, but I knew that the second I stepped out into the tropical air they would go flat. I shook my head slowly at myself in the mirror. Even though I knew it was going to be straight by the time I got to the parking lot, I had gone to the trouble. Noah just had that effect on me. I wanted to look good for him.

“Oh, pretty,” Brooke said, poking her head in the bathroom door. We shared the small bathroom and technically the curling iron was hers, but with the tropical humidity she had stopped trying to curl her hair after the second day. “So, who's the date with?”

“What makes you think I have a date?” I asked, glaring at her in the mirror.

She shot me a cheesy know-it-all smirk “Because you don't curl your hair for bartending gigs.” Her smile widened. “And because you have been humming a Disney princess theme song for the past thirty minutes.”

I scowled at her and she laughed. I put my makeup b
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