Don't Ever Tell Read Online Free PDF

give him of herself. He deserved the truth.
But the truth would break his heart.
Last night’s dream was fresh in her mind. After she’d awakened, Joshua believed she had fallen back to sleep, but when he shut off the lights she’d lain awake for almost an hour, worrying.
Worrying about him— the man whose name she dared not voice, not even internally, out of an almost superstitious fear that doing so would conjure him out of the ether like an evil spirit.
But she’d received very disturbing news about him yesterday. News that had almost certainly brought about her nightmare.
Don’t think about it, girl. Worrying never solves anything, does it?
In typical Atlanta fashion, traffic was already heavy on Camp Creek Parkway, the four-lane road that snaked past their neighborhood all the way to the marketplace where her salon was located. Cars poured onto Camp Creek from intersecting streets that supported an ever-increasing number of residential communities.
In her three years living in Atlanta, she had watched the south side transformed from vast acres of silent fields and undisturbed forests of pine and elm into the metro area’s hottest slice of real estate. Some people complained about the rapid pace of growth, but she welcomed it.
It was easier to stay hidden in a heavily populated area.
Stopping at a traffic light, she flipped down the sun visor and examined her face in the mirror. She wasn’t looking for flaws, and she wasn’t planning to apply makeup. She had been blessed with a blemish-free complexion that required only a light touch of cosmetics.
Instead, she was inspecting her new look.
Before moving to Atlanta, she’d worn contact lenses, instead of the thin frame glasses she now sported. Auburn was her natural hair color, and her lush mane had previously hung to the middle of her back. Upon relocating, she’d dyed her hair black and trimmed it to a cute, curly ’do.
If someone who’d known her before she came to Atlanta saw her today, they wouldn’t recognize her. She hoped.
Ten minutes later, she parked in front of her salon, Belle Coiffure. The name was French for “beautiful hairstyle.” She and Tanisha, her business partner, had opened the salon two years ago, and business had been booming from day one.
Certain individuals from her past had doubted her abilities, had told her she’d never amount to anything on her own. As the saying went, living well was the best revenge.
The Open sign was already aglow, the interior track lights shining brightly. When she pushed through the glass doubledoors, she heard a gospel song by Mary, Mary rocking on the radio. Tanisha was organizing magazines in the waiting area—copies of Essence, Hype Hair , Gospel Music Today , Ebony, and other glossy periodicals.
“Morning, Tee,” Rachel said. “I didn’t expect you to be here already.”
“Hey, girl,” Tanisha said. “I’ve got a seven-fifteen. Otherwise, you know a sista wouldn’t be rollin’ in till eight.”
Tanisha was a tall, light-skinned sister in her mid-thirties, with a sprinkle of chocolate freckles across her cheeks and a hairdo that changed weekly. This week, her brown hair was styled in a twisted up-do with highlights that accentuated her hazel eyes. It looked fabulous, of course. Tanisha believed that each stylist’s own hair was her best form of advertising, and Rachel tended to agree.
Tanisha was the first friend Rachel had made when she’d moved to Atlanta. They had worked side-by-side at a shop in College Park. Both of them were driven, talented at their craft, and ambitious. It was only natural that they would decide to step out on faith and open their own salon together. “You enjoy the party last night?” Rachel asked.
“It was real nice,” Tanisha said. “Y’all had everything there—except single, fine men with good jobs.”
“You know if I knew any single men, I’d hook you up.”
“Single, fine men with good jobs, girl. Not single, bucktoothed, cross-eyed, broke-ass