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One of the stylists called to her, “Sure.”
“Follow me to my house, please,” Cheryse told Trent.
When he got out of the truck five minutes later, Cheryse had already run into her house. She lived a couple blocks away from the salon. It was in an older part of town, but still decent. He was slightly bothered by her flighty attitude. What about the letter? She hadn’t even acknowledged it.
The house had several things she still needed to fix. The second stair on her side deck to the house creaked as he walked up and pulled open the door. He would have to come over tomorrow and do some projects for her. He and Hunter did that, made sure Cheryse was taken care of. It was the least they could do after what she’d been through.
He walked inside. “Cheryse, what’s up?”
Cheryse stepped out of her room, sheepishly clutching an envelope. “I cannot believe I still have it.”
“Are you serious?” He took the letter from her hand. It wasn’t even opened.
“I have felt guilty for not giving this to you for twelve years. I can’t believe Liberty is here.” She ran a hand through her hair and moved toward the door. “Let’s go see her. I’ll tell Roger to pick me up at her place.”
