The Blind Date

“I want to do up my eyes today,” Mabel, one of the other ladies, says. “Do you have any of that eye cream again, Riley, darling?”

“Of course,” I tell her as I start to unload everything, laying it on the table like a big buffet of colorful candy. Or eye candy, at least. “Let’s have fun, ladies!”

Arielle helps some of the residents who are a little more shy or not as dexterous anymore, and I hang back, answering questions and making recommendations when needed.

“Here’s your lipstick, Hazel,” I say, handing her the tube ironically labeled Hot Harlot. “And your eye cream, Mabel.” Thankfully, it’s called Hydration Station and not anything too risqué, considering it’s a thick, white cream.

Oh, my goodness! What is wrong with me?

That kiss is what’s wrong with you!

I touch my lips, which still burn from Noah’s kiss. I’ve never been kissed like that. Like he wanted to possess me, own me, or maybe like he already does but is willing to give me a moment to realize it. The bad thing is . . . I already know it too well. But that doesn’t mean anything.

No matter how great the conversations have been.

No matter the connection I felt when we talked about everything and nothing.

No matter the fireworks shooting through my body when he kissed me and made me realize that maybe I’ve never been properly kissed.

Because he’s River’s best friend. And Arielle’s brother. And Noah Daniels.

I sigh, stepping back to let the ladies play with all the makeup. They’re giddy and excited, showing the small palettes to each other and complimenting one another’s attempts at eye shadow combinations.

Arielle notices, telling Bertha, “Keep going with the teasing, and I’ll be back to help with the hair spray in the back, m’kay?” Bertha does as instructed, expertly teasing her hair into a huge bouffant reminiscent of the sixties.

Coming over to stand next me, Arielle bumps my shoulder. “Hey, girlie, don’t look so freaked. Hazel’s kidding about the whole . . .” She draws her thumb across her neck, closing her eyes and lolling her tongue out. “These women are tough as nails, living through world wars, outliving their husbands, and look.” She points around the room. “Still kicking and cackling.” On cue, Hazel puckers her now ultra-red lips at Mildred, who scowls. Several women crack up in response, and I can’t help but smile . . . a little.

“It’s not that,” I say aimlessly.

“What’s wrong then?”

I kissed your brother!

“Uhm . . . nothing,” I reply, blinking. “Sorry. Just stuff on the brain.” I swirl my hand around my temple like there’s a whirlwind of tumbleweeds tangling up in my brain, mostly so that I don’t unconsciously touch my lips again.

“Work stuff? Or did Ninety-Six Percent keep you up late last night?” Arielle prods with a smile.

“What?” I say too quickly. I must look guilty as hell. I’ve never been one to hide my emotions, but the fates must be shining on me today, or the deal I’m considering making with the Devil is already taking effect, because Arielle misreads my expression.

“Shit, did he already turn into a toad? Damn it, I thought that had a good shot. I’m sorry, Riley. Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight?”

It takes me a full thirty seconds to realize that she’s put one and one together and decided that my messaging with Mark has already ended poorly. And tonight?

Oh, yeah, The Crew’s outing.

“Maybe,” I say without committing to anything. “It should be fun, at least.”

“Hell yeah, it will be.”

Arielle and I fall into a comfortable silence, and I think about The Crew. Most of us left our jobs at the mall, but we still try to get together frequently. Sometimes, that’s monthly. Other times, it might be several months before we see each other. It all depends on everyone’s schedules now that we’re grown and in different places in our lives.

But tonight’s important . . . so we’re going to make the time.

“I can’t wait,” I assure her. “Oh, looks like Bertha’s ready for you to spray her hair.”

Arielle’s eyes cut to Bertha, and she snaps sharply, “Don’t you dare try to reach back there to spray, woman. You and I both know your shoulder does not do that anymore, and Dr. Mehendle will kill us both if he has to replace that joint again.” Arielle softens the truth with a smile, but she’s not kidding around. She takes care of her patients, protecting them from themselves when necessary.

With Arielle helping Bertha, I get back to work helping the other ladies—fetching a color or cream they’d like to try or helping with application if their hands are shaky or their eyesight is poor.

“I haven’t worn this much shadow since I tried to look like Brigitte Nielsen in the 80s!” Mabel cackles as she finishes her eyes. “Too bad I’m six inches too short!”